


A Call of the Sidhe

by JBankai89



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Bucky Barnes, Fairies, Fairy Steve Rogers, Fairy T'Challa, Ghost Hunting, Ghosts, HEA, Happily Ever After, M/M, PTSD, fairy lore, small town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 88,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: The plan was peace and quiet. Dóchas, New York. A little dull village bracketed by the Adirondacks and the Canadian border. It was a place that Bucky didn't need to worry about having meltdowns over the general hustle and bustle of a big city. It was supposed to be a positive change for him.What he hadn't signed up for or expected however was the mysterious events that began to occur almost immediately, nor the person responsible for it all to be so mind-bendinglyattractive.So much for peace and quiet.DO NOT TRANSLATE OR REPOST
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Jane Foster/Thor
Comments: 183
Kudos: 158





	1. For His Own Good

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Faery Lore is something near and dear to my heart. For this story, it is something of an amalgamation of a few different concepts from a multitude of sources. In regards to the title of this story, depending on what you read, the Sidhe (pronounced “shee”) can be also known as the Aos Si, or the People of the Hills. However, in most of my readings people tend to simply refer to them as Sidhe, and so I have chosen to do the same for my story here. This story will be updated every two weeks, and the next update is scheduled for after the holidays on January 19th. From that point it will be precisely biweekly updates. 
> 
> Also please note the town in this story is 100% made up, so anyone from New York, please don't get mad at me :P

A Call of the Sidhe

_Tarry thou yet, late lingerer in the twilight's glory;_

_Gay are the hills with song: earth's faery children leave_

_More dim abodes to roam the primrose-hearted eve,_

_Opening their glimmering lips to breathe some wondrous story._

_Hush, not a whisper! Let your heart alone go dreaming._

_Dream unto dream may pass: deep in the heart alone_

_Murmurs the Mighty One his solemn undertone._

_Canst thou not see adown the silver cloudland streaming_

_Rivers of faery light, dewdrop on dewdrop falling,_

_Star-fire of silver flames, lighting the dark beneath?_

_And what enraptured hosts burn on the dusky heath!_

_Come thou away with them for Heaven to Earth is calling._

_These are Earth's voice—her answer—spirits thronging._

_Come to the Land of Youth: the trees grown heavy there_

_Drop on the purple wave the starry fruit they bear._

_Drink: the immortal waters quench the spirit's longing._

_Art thou not now, bright one, all sorrow past, in elation,_

_Made young with joy, grown brother-hearted with the vast,_

_Whither thy spirit wending flits the dim stars past_

_Unto the Light of Lights in burning adoration. _

_A Call of the Sidhe – George William (“A.E.”) Russell, 1913._

Chapter One – For His Own Good

Bucky couldn't say he was entirely happy about this, but everyone had said it was for his own good.

And that was the point, right?

To be good.

To be _better_.

Or, at the very least, to discard the hot mess his brain had become ever since he returned from Iraq one arm short.

His V.A. Benefits had gotten him about one-tenth of the way towards this goal—fundraising and generous donations from his family (and his sister's Instatram followers) had done the rest. Now, he was the proud owner of a teeny little cabin in the woods.

It would be great, provided he didn't eaten by bears or kidnapped by bigfoot or something.

But then, perhaps _cabin in the woods _was a bit of an exaggeration.

_Little house at the edge of the woods, fully furnished, with no neighbours for miles and all his utilities paid off for the next two years _seemed to be more appropriate.

It was amazing what one could manage with an internet-famous sister; their GoFundMe had almost tripled their goal within a month, all for the express means of getting Bucky out of New York City and into somewhere quiet that would not fuck with his PTSD, his social issues, or his sensory ones. He'd come back from an active warzone with a purple heart, a cheap prosthetic arm to replace the one he'd lost, and a helluva lot of shrapnel embedded into his body—the least people could do (as far as Becca was concerned, at least) would be to help Bucky settle down somewhere to live and work in peace.

And here it was likely that there would be _plenty_ of peace and quiet to be had.

And, if it didn't work out, at least he could still binge Netflix from way out here.

“Netflix is not the only reason I got you this place and you know it,” his sister countered crossly as she entered the little house behind him and took a look around. It was beautifully decorated, with white rugs draped over hardwood, two love seats around a homey-looking fireplace and expensive TV affixed to the wall, with Bucky's trusty but ancient XBOX 360 already hooked up to it. From their place in the front hall, Bucky could see doorways and halls that led to other parts of the house, but no further details, while at the same time his sister continued to berate him. “You deserve a safe space for you to do your art and heal. The village is just down the road, so it's not like you'll go nuts if you need to see people.”

“Yeah, _D__ó__chas_,” Bucky replied in a snide tone. “The fuck kinda name is that for a town? I've never even _heard _of it.”

“It's Gaelic,” Becca replied at once. “It means _hope_.”

Bucky was about to respond sarcastically, perhaps wondering out loud why the hell there was a Gaelic-named town in America, but beyond the fact that that was stupid and wrong for a myriad of reasons, he had to admit that he could use a little hope right now.

“This _Dóchas _better have a decent pizzeria that delivers, that's all I'm sayin',” Bucky said at last, which caused Becca to laugh.

As it would turn out, Dóchas did, in fact, deliver pizza, from a little joint called _Pizza del Ettore _and it was passable, but at the very least better than what a chain pizza might offer.

Over pizza with beer shared with his sister, they observed his new dining room quietly. Good walnut table, what looked like a classy wine cabinet but was actually a beer fridge in disguise, and beyond it a little kitchen with a stove, microwave, toaster, and fridge overstuffed with food.

Privately, Bucky hoped that he could find a use for all of it. He wasn't much of a chef, and tended to rely on pre-made stuff. Cooking was awkward when you were an amputee, especially if you were one who hated prosthetics with a passion, and often left it off, instead of on.

“I'll be up here for a couple days,” Becca said, filling the silence, but her voice was thick over her arugula and goat cheese pizza, and Bucky was unfortunately sprayed with bits of her thin crust. “Just to help you settle in,” she explained when Bucky glowered at her. “and to make sure you leave the house at least once. Everything's set up with your psych too, he says he has no problem doing your sessions by Skype.”

“Yeah but if I told Strange that I was more comfortable doing my sessions buck naked, he'd probably be okay with it,” Bucky pointed out dryly, which caused Becca to laugh.

“True,” she agreed, smiling as she went for the thick-cut fries that the pizza had come with, and crammed a few into her mouth. “I like him. When Ma called him to check up on you—or try and snoop into your therapy sessions, who knows with her—he very politely told her to fuck off. It was awesome.”

“So _that's _why Ma kept trying to get me to switch therapists!” Bucky cried out as he began to laugh, while Becca eagerly joined in, giggling as she sipped her beer. “Winnie Barnes is the nosiest woman on the fucking _planet_, I swear to God.”

“Maybe it's an extra perk that you're moving up here—away from the bustle of the city and our crazy family,” Becca offered, and Bucky smiled at her sadly.

“I hate being like this, you know,” he replied, and pressed on when Becca met Bucky's gaze with an expression of confusion. “This whole...being freaked out by everything..._thing_. I wanna be able to be with my family, and not get home later while feeling like I did a twelve-hour shift at a shipping yard, or whatever. I don't want to dread socializing, and I hate that the only time I feel like I'm at peace is when I'm doing art. I wanna be able to _be me_ again.”

“Life doesn't stay still,” Becca said, her voice soft and consoling as she reached out to gently touch Bucky's shoulder. “Hell, I went to Law School and wound up as some kind of Instagram celebrity for my cakes, and I _still_ have no idea how that happened.” She paused to laugh, and Bucky offered her a weak smile. “I mean, do I still wish I'd finished Law School? Yeah, sometimes, but I'm doing something that I love, and I'm getting paid for it, so it all worked out in the end. I know you miss the old you, and I'm sure _now _you isn't much fun, but I know the _new _you will be amazing. Right now you need seclusion to feel normal, and that's okay too.”

“How'd you get so damn smart?” Bucky asked, half-teasing, and his baby sister offered him a smile.

“Long, arduous hours of practice,” she replied, and Bucky laughed warmly.

~*~

Becca stayed long enough to help Bucky with the dishes and explain to him what the fuck a _kohlrabi _was when he found one in his vegetable drawer during his search for a vaguely healthy snack to balance out his greasy dinner. Unfortunately, her description of _it tastes like broccoli stems when you cook it but raw it kinda tastes like a really mild radish _didn't exactly help his mood, which was made worse when she hugged him warmly, and promised she'd be at the inn down the road if he needed anything.

While Bucky could admit he was approaching his peopled-out mood, where he was just too exhausted to socialize anymore, the house still didn't feel like home to him, and he felt distinctly awkward about being there alone.

For the first little while, Bucky moved from room to room, trying to feel more at-home in the place. He lit a scented candle, which made it feel a little warmer, and he helped himself to some cocoa from the kitchen, topped off with a huge glob whipped cream.

So much for his _healthy snack _attempt.

As Bucky was settling in to marathon _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ for the nine thousandth time, his phone buzzed its way across the table.

“The fuck does Becca want _now_?” Bucky grumbled as he snatched his phone off the table, accepted the call, and switched it to speaker as he demanded, “_what_? Becks, I'm fine, you can go to bed or whatever.”

“Jesus, what's crawled up your ass?” Becca responded, entirely unruffled by Bucky's tone. Past the sound of her voice, Bucky could hear the distinct thrum of a heavy rainstorm in the background. “I just called because of the storm, I wanted to make sure that there's no leaks in your place, because I figured you'd need help calling a repair guy.”

“Okay, uh...first question,” Bucky said as he got up off his sofa, and moved to the window to be sure. “What rain?”

“Are you being sarcastic right now?”

“No, I mean it,” Bucky said as he moved to his front door and opened it to be sure. “I don't see any rain, it's totally clear over here.”

“Well maybe the storm hasn't gotten to you yet—lucky bastard,” she grumbled, half in jest, and Bucky cracked a small smile.

“Guy's gotta get lucky sometime,” Bucky replied, and he heard his sister laugh.

“Ain't that the truth. Okay, I'll leave you alone then. Night.”

“Night,” Bucky replied, ending the call as he shut his door, locking it before he returned to his planned date with his favourite TV show.

~*~

The night passed fairly well for Bucky, but without the hum of the city, it was almost _too _quiet. He heard dozens of rustles and cries in the night, and more than once he had to ask Alexa questions about local wildlife vocalizations to make sure he wasn't about to be killed by bigfoot or something.

In sum, it hadn't made for the most restful sleep in the world, but it was peaceful in its own weird sort of way.

He really hoped that he could get used to it soon.

The following morning, Bucky made a full hot breakfast, the closest to cooking he ever got—toast, fried eggs sunny side up, and pan-fried cherry tomatoes. Sometimes he'd throw on a few slices of bacon if he was being extra fancy, but most of the time he was too lazy, and stuck to his morning staple, paired with plenty of black coffee. As he was doing so, he heard a knock on the door.

Even without opening it, he knew it was Becca. She seemed to knock differently than everyone else—one sharp tap, a pause, then two more taps, using only two knuckles. It was how Bucky always knew it was her.

“Come in!” he called without getting up, and watched from his open-concept dining table as Becca let herself in, looking a little tired and more than a little freaked out.

“Coffee?” Bucky offered, holding up the french press, and Becca smiled gratefully.

“Please,” she replied, while Bucky got up to fetch her a mug from the cabinet, and came back with a black mug painted with silver stars. “Maybe while you're at it, explain where you got the horseshoe stuck in your ass.”

“Uh...what?”

“_Dude_,” Becca emphasized, “you should _see _the village. Everything is still soaked from the night before—street signs knocked over, a few houses closer to the lake are even _flooded!_ But for like...maybe a hundred feet around your house, everything is dry as a damn desert. It's super weird.”

“You're shitting me,” Bucky said with a snort, and Becca avidly shook her head.

“I'm _not!_” she insisted, her eyes wide. “It's like...like...like someone put a giant umbrella over your house for the night.”

“Yeah, _okay, _Becca,” Bucky said as he finally set the coffee cup in front of her and went back to his food. He motioned for her to help herself, but she seemed content with her coffee, drinking it in sullen silence while she glared across the table at him for a moment before her expression fell into one of quiet contemplation for the remainder of the meal.

After breakfast, during which Becca helped him do his dishes. With her assistance it took all of two seconds, while at the same time she called a roofing inspector, and Bucky watched in quiet awe as Becca all but harassed the man into coming that day, despite protests from both Bucky and the company both that there was nothing wrong with the roof.

Becca would not be swayed however, and it did not take much for both parties to give in to her demands, and the inspector promised to come by around noon that day.

~*~

“Man,” the inspector said as he hopped off his ladder. “You got a horseshoe the size of _Texas _up your butt, bro. If the storm made it up here you would've been swimmin'. Might as well have roofed your house with screen doors. I'll have a team up here later today to get it fixed, but you might wanna duck and cover while they work, as the whole place is gonna _stink _for a while. Tar, you know.”

Bucky turned to Becca, at a loss for what to say. Becca, in turn, merely grinned at him smugly.

“He can hang with me in town while you guys do what you gotta do, but we'll be checking in. Will it stink up the inside of the house?”

“It shouldn't. Just keep your windows closed and shut your flue, and it should be okay.”

“Floo?” Bucky asked, confused. “Like from Harry Potter?”

“No, you cantaloupe,” Becca said as she rolled her eyes. “_F-L-U-E. _It means your chimney.”

“Oh,” Bucky replied as he fought back a scowl. _Why didn't she just say that?_

Bucky watched as Becca pointedly took the quote from the roofing inspector, and she gave Bucky a look that clearly implied that he wasn't to argue about it. Bucky didn't bother, and just nodded his head in thanks. Before the inspector departed, he gave Bucky with a time frame for when to expect the roofers, then he at last turned to Becca and said, “come on, I owe you ice cream.”

In town, the pair stopped at a little shop called _Stark Creamery,_ which boasted a number of flavours, though both siblings opted for the New York Cheesecake one. Their ordered were stuffed into enormous waffle cones by an enthusiastic teenager named Peter; he seemed pretty keen to sell them something called the _Avengers Sundae_, which included a number of brightly coloured ice cream flavours plus hot fudge, caramel, and cherries, but Bucky was a little intimidated by how huge it was, and contented himself with the double-scoop cone.

“Fuck, this is good,” Becca said with a groan as she picked out hunks of frozen cheesecake from the ice cream. “I'd probably stick around just for more of this.”

“You could stay for...” Bucky glanced back at the sign, “seventy-two days if you really wanted to try every flavour.”

Becca snorted, and flicked a crumb from her cone at him.

“Don't tempt me. I do wanna have another inspector look over the house before I go though, just to make sure everything is up to code because I know _you _won't do it.”

“How do you know I won't?” Bucky demanded grumpily, to which Becca responded with a _look_.

“Because your mental health stuff means you flake on pretty much everything. I know you're working on it, but until then I wanna make sure you're all set up before I head back to the city.” She paused, biting into her ice cream like some sort of heathen, and swallowed before she added, “I don't mean that in a bad way, Bucky. I just know it's hard for you to follow through with stuff, not 'cause you're lazy or anything, but just 'cause it's hard. I know I probably sound like a total bitch right now, but I just wanna make sure you're all set up before I go.”

“I know, and I do appreciate it,” Bucky replied with a little, despondent sigh. “You could try not sounding so harsh when you say it though. Anyone but me would think you're being some kind of ignorant asshole.”

Becca replied with a smile, and the siblings shared a laugh as they both went back to their ice cream.

~*~

After they finished their ice cream, Bucky and Becca meandered back towards the little house. Outside of it Bucky spotted a large truck, and three men who were staring up at the house and scratching their heads.

“Uh, can I help you guys?” Becca ventured when they got close enough for the men to hear them, and all three whipped around at the sound of her voice.

“You the owner, ma'am?” one of them asked, he bearing a thick southern accent that didn't quite fit with the New York State vibe.

“He is,” Becca said as she motioned to Bucky. “But I'm the one who called the roofers. Is there a problem?”

“Well, not exactly...” one of the other guys said, though he sounded just as confused as the southern guy.

“Define _not exactly_,” Becca said, her tone taking on a slightly icy edge to it, warning the guys that she was losing her patience, and they needed to get to the point.

“Well, ma'am, it's just the darndest thing,” the southerner said again, and the other two men nodded in fervent agreement. “We come up to the house, check for what needs to get done, y'see. And then we turn around, I _swear_, we was only turned around for a minute, then we turn back around, and it's _done_.”

“...done?” Bucky asked, blinking at them. He turned to Becca, but she looked as perplexed as he felt.

“The whole job,” the southern one said again. “It was done—finished. But we ain't _touched _nothin' yet!”

Bucky blinked, at a loss for what to say.

“Well,” Becca began hesitantly, “maybe you just made—”

“It weren't no mistake,” the third guy interrupted, silent up to that point. “We was just gettin' ready to start the job, we turned around, and it was _done_. The air even smelled a bit like tar, like it had been done _hours _ago, but we were standin' here only for a minute.”

Bucky and Becca alternated reasoning with the three men, but they staunchly refused to agree with the siblings. As far as they were concerned, something weird was going on, and no logical explanation was going to satiate them.

As they drove off, their truck packed up once more, Bucky caught sight of all three men crossing themselves, and he had to laugh.

“Looks like they think my house is haunted,” Bucky remarked, and Becca giggled a little.

“Weirdos,” she added. “I guess the inspector was wrong. No other reason for it.” She paused, and offered him a wry smile. “Come on, I'll make up this whole debacle to you by making dinner. I'll _even _show you how to prepare kohlrabi.”

Bucky barked a laugh, and together they headed inside.


	2. Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome back to our post-holiday schedule :) thank you guys so much for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. I hope this chapter makes up for the waiting, and the next one will be up on February 2nd.

Chapter Two – Town

Bucky woke in the morning.

That in itself was a little odd—_more _than a little, considering that Bucky's mornings usually started at about two in the afternoon.

And yet here he was, waking up on his own, and it wasn't even ten o'clock yet.

“Must be all the fresh air getting to me,” Bucky muttered as he dragged himself out of bed with a small groan, dressed only in his most baggy pair of boxers, and he shuffled to his kitchen, his coffee calling him like a beacon.

It had been the better part of a week since he'd arrived in this quaint little hamlet. Bucky was honestly relieved how sleepy the little town was. He didn't exactly have neighbours, as most of the houses were closer to town, but the people he occasionally ran into were respectful, and felt no need to pry into his personal business.

No, the town was _nice._ Quiet and peaceful without being too creepy—it was just what Bucky needed.

That is, during the day.

At night, the forest would always come alive. It still sufficiently creeped Bucky out to no end; he still hadn't gotten used to the nightly noises, the yips and jabbers of mysterious creatures, the hoots of owls—all of it was so foreign to his city boy sensibilities.

Bucky hoped that he'd get used to it all given enough time, but so far that hadn't happened.

Bucky ate his breakfast slowly, steak and eggs with coffee, and swallowed his pills in between bites. They were the last of his eggs and meat, meaning that Bucky would need to go into town and do a little shopping.

The thought made Bucky want to groan out loud. He _hated _shopping.

~*~

“Greetings, customer!”

The booming voice bled through Bucky's ear buds, and he whipped around so hard that he felt his neck crack.

The man behind the counter was tall and muscular, with golden hair and a beard. He was sporting a wide smile and a green apron that bore the store's logo, and he truly appeared as though his only joy in life was greeting the patrons to the grocery store.

“Um...hi,” Bucky replied, not quite sure what else to say while he paused his music and took one ear bud reluctantly out.

“You are recent to this town, yes?” he asked, his voice still as boisterous as before, and he was still smiling broadly. Bucky moved to respond, but the man got there first. “You have come to the right place for your daily necessities! We even got a recent shipment in of real wild boar, which will make your tastebuds dance and sing!”

“Uh...thanks...” Bucky said, just as a young woman raced up to the cash and she touched the big man's arm to get his attention.

“Thor, you're doing it again,” the woman said, smiling at him sweetly. “Stop scaring the customers.” She paused, and turned to Bucky as she added, “he means well, really, Thor's just..._enthusiastic_.”

Bucky half-expected the guy to get mad at the woman speaking for him, but instead he lowered his arms and offered Bucky another smile.

“I apologize,” he said politely. “Please, if you have any questions, you may ask me.”

Without offering up any sort of real answer, Bucky hastily crammed his ear bud back in, grabbed a shopping cart, and all but ran into the safety of the aisles.

As it would turn out, the shipment was for pork, not wild boar, but he skipped over it anyway in favour of some chicken and flank steak. He then loaded up on eggs, cheese, milk, and enough veggies that he wouldn't feel Becca judging him from miles away.

Bucky topped off his cart with a few boxes of oreos and some cherry coke, as well as some kind of mousse cake that looked too damn good to pass up.

Bucky then trundled up to the cash, hoping that he'd be able to select someone other than Loud Thor, but unfortunately, he seemed to be manning the only open cash. He pulled up behind a pair of other shoppers, a man and a woman who seemed to be bickering in a language that Bucky did not recognize.

Bucky waited, drumming his fingers as he turned up his music, hoping that the dulcet tones of Justin Pierre would drown the pair out. He recognized the lilt of their words as Eastern European, but he only knew Russian from his Babushka (which, admittedly, he'd been losing ever since she passed when he was a teenager), and whatever they were speaking was definitely _not _Russian.

At last the pair finished, and whatever they'd been arguing about seemed to die out, and they left in companionable quiet.

“I apologize for them, and hello again!” Thor said with a warm chuckle as Bucky stepped up to the cash, and began to unload his cart. “You know how siblings can be—one minute you love them, the next you are at each other's throats. My brother and I are always bickering.”

“Hmm,” Bucky intoned in a non-committal way, bouncing his foot while Thor scanned each of his purchases.

“Your sister did not stay with you?” Thor asked conversationally as he tapped out the code for the eggs when the barcode refused to scan. “Many of us saw you two around town this week—I'd assumed you both moved here.”

“Just me,” Bucky replied. “Long story.”

Thor nodded, almost sagely, and he fell silent. He finished scanning Bucky's purchases and relieved Bucky of his reusable bags in order to pack everything up while Bucky paid with his debit card.

“Until our next meeting,” Thor said with much more formality than was probably needed, and he bowed to Bucky. “May I know your name?”

Bucky almost didn't want to give it to him—this guy was weird as hell, like he was from another planet. However, if he only gave his first name, or part of his name, likely this guy couldn't stalk him or something weird like that.

“It's Bucky—Bucky Barnes.”

_Damn it! _

Bucky winced. He hadn't meant to say that.

“Then until our next meeting, Bucky Barnes,” Thor repeated, smiling warmly as he held out Bucky's bags to him.

Bucky grabbed them and hastened from the store, unwilling to look back and have Thor see his beet-red face.

~*~

Bucky's calves were aching when he finally got home, given that he practically ran the whole way with two heavy shopping bags on his sole arm.

Now, assured that no one could see him from where he stood, he shuffled up the stone walkway, awash in the scents of the wildflowers around him as he went, though the sweet, fresh smell did little to perk him up.

Inside, Bucky unpacked his groceries and finally cleaned up his dishes from that morning. Most of the dishes he could just stick into his dishwasher, but a few that were not dishwasher-safe Bucky stuck in the sink to soak, and vowed to deal with them soon.

By the time he'd finished that particular task, Bucky wandered through the house, trying to decide what to do with himself. He was tempted to boot up his XBOX and play Portal for the thousandth time, but something pulled him through the house, and he couldn't quite commit to a single, solitary task. Instead he just _looked_.

It took Bucky a while to work out what was causing this off feeling he was experiencing. The house was nice, comfortable, almost fancy, if pleasantly rustic.

But it had no _personality_.

And Bucky'd be damned if that wasn't it.

It was a nice house with nice things, but Bucky saw very little of himself in the house, and that, surely, was what was unsettling him.

Bucky pulled out his phone, gathered up a hoard of snacks, and flopped down onto the couch.

Time to do some _more _shopping.

Bucky used the bank savings account Becca had nicknamed the _house fund_, and dug into it for a few personal items. Becca had said that this had been detailed in the fundraiser pages she'd set up, and so he wouldn't need to feel guilty about using it for decorating, though he vowed to save whatever was left for prospective repairs, if any more came up.

Bucky ordered a few little knickknacks for his mantlepiece—mostly little Funko-Pop figurines from his favourite franchises. He ordered a print of a skeleton in a chef's hat that read, _There Will Be No Bitchin' In My Fucking Kitchen _as well as a frame for it, and a few sarcastic cross-stitch pillows and wall art pieces that looked like old-fashioned affirmations or blessings from a distance, but up close said things like, _Not Today, Satan_, and _What Would Goku Do?._

It hadn't come out to as much as Bucky expected, and even the handmade items came out to free shipping, which was an added bonus.

Gotta love technology.

Bucky was in the midst of flipping from his Amazon app to Toss The Turtle when he heard it for the first time.

From outside his house, a loud, boisterous laugh.

“Fuck, that weirdo found out where I live,” Bucky grumbled as he whipped himself off the couch, narrowly missing upending his Pringles, and debated the merits of grabbing something to defend himself with before he checked the door. While he was definitely smaller than that Thor guy, he still knew how to fight, but by the same token the guy hadn't seemed dangerous, just _way _too friendly.

Bucky grabbed the iron poker from beside the fireplace anyway—it was autumn, so if he didn't have to defend himself, he could always go with the excuse that he was building a fire.

The laughter, curiously, seemed to be coming from somewhere in the forest, rather than the front of his house. Regardless, Bucky still made for the front door first, and peered through the window.

No one was there.

Oddly, that made the laughter _much_ creepier.

Bucky rushed to the back of the house, and looked.

Nothing there, either.

The laughter seemed to be fading away the longer Bucky searched for its source. He went from window to window to be sure, but he found nothing at all.

Given that it was midday, Bucky could see pretty deeply into the woods, and with his sniper training, he was good at noticing things that others didn't.

Despite that, the coast seemed clear.

At last relaxing a little bit more, Bucky put away the poker, and snatched his jacket up.

In between the possibly haunted woods and his discomfort around people, Bucky would take people any day of the week.

~*~

Bucky walked back into town, and headed this time for the coffee shop, which was simply called _Best Coffee_. The Cyrillic letters beneath them on the sign, which the owners seemed to try to pass off as artistic detailing actually read in Russian, _Best Fucking Coffee In Town_, which caused Bucky to laugh a little as he headed inside.

The interior seemed to teeter between relaxed and vaguely Spartan in design. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and pastries, and the space was adorned with art pieces from what Bucky assumed were local artists, as well as a haphazard collection of squashy armchairs and round wooden tables.

There was a brunette woman behind the counter, pointedly on her phone, but she put it away, almost regretfully, when Bucky approached her.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone of voice almost sarcastic, and the other woman behind the counter pursed her lips, though she seemed more amused than annoyed by her coworker's tone.

“Large coffee, black, and a blueberry muffin,” Bucky replied, and the woman (called Darcy, according to her nametag) let out some sort of sound that was almost a cross between a groan and a cry of joy.

“Oh, thank _god_,” she said. “If I get one more stupid kid in here asking for a pumpkin spice latté...like, do we _look _like a Starbucks?”

Bucky wanted to say that yes, they did look like a Starbucks. Even the playlist they had going was vaguely similar to the music he'd heard in multiple chains. However, Bucky wasn't dumb enough to point this out, and instead he forced a laugh.

“That'll be six-fifty,” she said, and Bucky handed her a ten. He dropped the change she offered him into their tip jar, which caused her smile to broaden. “Have a seat, sexy war-amps. I'll have your order up in a _hot_ second.”

Bucky snorted, turning away as he heard the other woman hiss, “_Darcy! How many times have I told you to knock it off with the offensive nicknames?!_”

Bucky didn't hear Darcy's response, though admittedly he wasn't particularly offended by the nickname—he'd heard much worse.

_At least she thought I was sexy, _Bucky mused, and almost laughed. If she had been blond and male, she'd be _entirely _his type.

Darcy brought over his order in a tall glass mug, while his gargantuan blueberry muffin rested on a simple ceramic plate.

“I have been informed by Her Royal Highness that I need to apologize for calling you sexy war-amps,” she said, and visibly fought to roll her eyes as she said it. “Clearly it was an offensive term, and if I do not apologize like I mean it, I'll get fired. So here I am, apologizing.”

“Would it help if I said that I wasn't that offended?” Bucky replied. “Usually people are too anxious to even bring it up.”

“Not my style, man,” she said, sitting across from him while Bucky started on his coffee, which, as it turned out, lived up to its name—it was _good._ “Everything that comes out of my mouth is _gold_, that's why it's all on Facebook.”

“Yeah, you give me the impression of someone who spends a lot of time on social media,” Bucky remarked, not wholly certain if he meant it as an insult or not.

“Damn straight,” she replied, before standing up a little too hastily. The reason for this became immediately obvious when the colleague whom Bucky now assumed was Darcy's boss, came out of the back room, and Darcy quickly made a show of wiping down a nearby empty table so that she could keep talking. “So, you're that new guy in town, right? The one who built that house in the haunted woods?”

Bucky nearly choked on his coffee, and he eyed her with both alarm and confusion as he set down the mug in order to mop his face before he grumpily demanded, “does _everyone _know I'm new in town?”

“When your last population boom was the birth of the Jones triplets in 1972, you notice when a hot new guy rolls into town,” Darcy replied a dryly. She was acting as though she hadn't just implied that Bucky's new home sat on haunted land, but that sort of remark wasn't something that Bucky could just _let go_.

“So...uh...is that like the local legend or something, what you said before?” Bucky asked while he picked his mug back up. “That the woods are haunted, I mean?”

“No clue, but that's what everyone says, the younger kids, anyway,” Darcy said with a vague shrug. “I don't think the old retirees in town really believe in that stuff, but everyone under thirty-five seems to believe it. My friend, Jane, she went into the woods during the night one time for some sort of...science...thing...honestly I don't understand half the weird shit she does...anyway, she went in and saw like...spook lights.”

“What the hell are _spook lights_?”

“You never heard of that?” Darcy asked, laughing a little, and Bucky shook his head. “It's a phenomenon pretty much globally, something you see in woods and on mountains and stuff, you know, like natural places. It's unexplained orbs of light. Some debunkers think it's ball lightning, but out here, people say you can hear laughing and music near the lights...like there's a party going on somewhere in the distance. I'm pretty sure ball lightning doesn't do _that_.”

Bucky hummed, the sound non-committal, while he drank more of his coffee and picked at his muffin. Darcy headed back to the counter to serve some customers, what looked like a father and his teenage son, and he could practically _hear _Darcy grinding her teeth when the boy asked for a pumpkin spice latte.

The pair headed for one of the nearby tables, the dad boasting the most obnoxious moustache and goatee combo that Bucky had ever seen, but luckily the older man didn't spot him staring, given that his entire focus seemed to be on his son.

Bucky tore his eyes away, and sipped more of his coffee as his thoughts returned to what Darcy had said.

If it was true, there was only one thing he could reasonably do about it.

Confront the person who got him the house in the first place.

“I am going to _kill_ Becca,” Bucky muttered under his breath, and just barely managed to keep himself from laughing out loud.


	3. The Haunted Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you guys so much for your continued support of this story! It's not the most popular AU in the world, so the fact that you guys are giving it a chance is making me so happy. Next update is scheduled for February 16th. Enjoy!

Chapter Three – The Haunted Woods

“_You built me a haunted house!_”

Bucky knew he sounded hysterical and a bit nuts, but at the moment he didn't much care. Becca built him a Haunted-Fucking-House in the Haunted-Fucking-Woods and he was _not _going to let her get away with that.

“What?” Becca croaked, sounding like she'd just woken up, despite the fact that it was almost two in the afternoon. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I am talking about this quaint fucking house you built for me.”

“What's wrong with it?”

“It's haunted.”

“No, what's _actually _wrong with it?”

“It's _haunted_.”

Becca scoffed, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

This might take a while.

“Okay,” Bucky began, aware that he still sounded angry and hysterical, but as far as he was concerned Becca _deserved _his ire. “First few nights here it was real noisy with animals and stuff, but I thought it was normal, y'know, 'cause I'm in the woods. Then after I did some shopping one day, I get back and I hear _laughing _from outside, but when I look, there's no one there. And it was definitely close enough for me to see if someone was hanging around and telling jokes.

“_And then_,” Bucky continued, his voice becoming ever more agitated the longer he talked, “I go to the coffee shop and this vaguely offensive barista tells me about how people have seen like ghost lights in the woods. _And then_ I keep hearing creepy sounds like a flute with no source around my damn house, gusts of warm wind on my skin both _in_ the house and outside...and this one time I sat on some mossy rock while on a hike and I was _sure _it felt hollow, but I checked and it was normal, but I swear two seconds before it was _fucking _hollow, and—”

“Bucky, _Bucky,_ stop!” Becca cried as Bucky continued to babble, and he reluctantly fell silent. “Have you spoken about this to Strange?”

“Does Strange have a ghost-hunting certificate that I don't know about?”

“That's not what I meant and you know it,” Becca countered crossly. In the background, Bucky could hear her puttering around her kitchen. “Look, PTSD can take a lot of forms. This is probably—”

“Becks, this is _not _PTSD!” Bucky protested hotly. “I _know_ PTSD, okay? I live with it every goddamn day. This is not it. Something else is going on.”

“Uh...huh.” There was a pause, and Bucky heard the sharp crackling hiss of an egg hitting a frying pan. “Well, I'm going to call Strange, since I know _you _won't do it—”

“Becca, do _not _do that,” Bucky interrupted. “This is a ghost thing, not a psych thing.”

“Yeah, okay,” Becca replied, her tone heavy with sarcasm. “Still calling him—”

“—no, don't—”

“—doing it—”

“—I'm begging you, do _not _do the thing—”

“—Talk to you later—”

“—Becca, I _mean _it—”

The phone disconnected, and Bucky swore.

Grumbling, Bucky stalked out of his house and made a beeline for the café. Natasha was working the counter when he walked in, and she offered him a sly little smile.

“Good timing,” she said, “your friend is about to get off. Usual?”

“Please,” Bucky replied, “and a chicken panini and chocolate croissant.”

Natasha rang him up without comment, just as Darcy stepped out of the back, her apron over her arm, and she grinned when her eyes fell on Bucky.

“Hey, sexy war amps. What're you doing here?” she asked, pointedly ignoring Natasha's frown as she spoke.

“Looking for you, actually,” Bucky replied. “Wanna talk over sandwiches and pastries?”

“Hell yeah,” she said. “Thank god for my discount. Meet me outside on the terrasse.”

Bucky did as he was told, moving outside to one of the little glass tables, where one of Darcy's colleagues, a vaguely ditzy guy named Clint brought over his order as he added, “Darcy will be out in a sec—she's having a little too much fun harassing my girlfriend.”

“She's definitely braver than me,” Bucky quipped, which caused Clint to laugh. “Natasha looks like she knows twelve ways to kill a man with nothing but a spoon.”

“_Puh_-lease,” Darcy chimed in as she strolled out with a pumpkin spice latte in her hand, the very same drink she'd so enthusiastically mocked the week prior. In the other, she had an overlarge bag of pastries—apple fritters, pumpkin tarts, honey-glazed doughnuts, and more. “Giving Natasha a spoon is like...giving a cat a knife. She could easily murder us all with a _look_.”

“Point to Darcy,” Clint responded with a laugh, and lifted his hand in a wave at them. “See you guys later.”

“Bye,” the pair echoed, with Darcy diving in to her monstrous bag of pastries, while Bucky sipped his coffee.

“So,” she said, spraying him with crumbs in the process, “what's got your tits in a twist?”

“I did the thing you told me not to do,” Bucky replied blandly, and Darcy snorted.

“Your sister thinks you're coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky replied with a slight groan. “I'm expecting a call from my therapist any time now. Becca made it pretty clear that she planned to tattle on me.”

“Oh man, therapists are the _worst _when it comes to the paranormal,” Darcy said with a groan. “I saw the Hat Man in my childhood bedroom _one time _and my parents thought I was totally nuts.”

“Yeah, I—”

Bucky cut himself off. His phone was buzzing.

The name on the screen left no mystery to who was calling, and though Bucky didn't want to put Strange on speaker, he did wave Darcy over, and after he plugged in his ear buds, he offered her one, and answered the call.

“Dr Strange,” Bucky said in what he hoped was a winning tone of voice. “Man, it's been a while. How are you?”

“I think you know why I'm calling, so let's skip the pleasantries. What do you say, Bucky?” Strange asked, his tone remaining pleasant, but in a way that implied that he wasn't going to skirt around the reason for the call. “I know we have a Skype session next week, but it's come to my attention that you might need a little support today. Duty of care, and all that.”

“And how would you know that?” Bucky asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm, but he was keen to see if he could wheedle out of Strange exactly what his stupid sister had said to him.

“I think you know,” Strange replied, repeating his sentiment from earlier. Darcy rolled her eyes, and silently sipped her latté, perhaps in an attempt to shut herself up and not spoil their ruse. “Why don't you tell me what's been going on?”

“My house is haunted,” Bucky deadpanned. “So unless you know the Ghostbusters, I don't know what you could do to actually help.”

“Just humour me, Bucky,” Strange encouraged. “Now, tell me everything. Remember, our conversations are safe space. I will not judge you, no matter what you tell me. All right?”

Bucky seriously doubted this, but he did as was asked, and repeated everything that he'd seen, heard, or had been told about. Strange listened quietly, as did Darcy, who continued to mow through her pastries, eating them as quietly as possible, though her expression gave Bucky the impression that she thought indulging his therapist at all was a colossal waste of time.

“Hmm, that's a lot to unpack, Bucky,” Strange said thoughtfully once Bucky finally finished. He paused for a moment, then said, “all right, let's start at the beginning—why do you think your house is haunted? Do you hear voices, or feel as though you're being watched?”  
  
“Just the laughter, but it's always from outside,” Bucky explained, “same with the distant party noises. I sometimes feel watched when I'm taking a hike in the woods, but not in the house, no.”

“All right,” Strange continued, “do you feel as though that you're under surveillance, for example, do you expect to find electronic bugs in your lamps or in your butter? Do you feel as though you're being followed?”

“Uh...no?”

“Okay, then...what precisely are you doing when this laughter starts?”

“Um...nothing.”

“Were you sleeping? Maybe dreaming, or remembering something?”

“I just said _no_,” Bucky insisted, his tone edging towards frustration. Darcy placed a hand on his arm, encouraging him to take a few steadying breaths before he continued, though it didn't really help much. “It just happens whenever—random times. There's no pattern.”

“And how do you feel when you hear these noises?”

“About how anyone else would feel when they hear a ghost laugh—freaked as all get out,” Bucky replied, and rolled his eyes, which caused Darcy to clap a hand to her mouth in order to stifle her laughter.

“Well, the next time it happens, maybe try to distract yourself,” Strange said encouragingly. “Do some dishes, or watch TV, or bake something...any activity that will occupy your thoughts and distract you from what you think you're—ah, from _what_ you're hearing.”

“Yeah...I'll definitely try that, Strange,” Bucky replied, his voice even, as though he was agreeing with the therapist's suggestion, while at the same time he exchanged a bewildered look with Darcy.

Strange seemed pleased with Bucky's agreement, while at the same time Bucky continued to make sarcastic faces at Darcy, who eventually had to remove the ear bud and walk away before finally breaking down into laughter. Bucky smirked as he wrapped up the call just as Darcy finally returned to the table, her face a little red and her glasses slightly dislodged.

“You're a terrible human being and I love you for it,” she said, to which Bucky snorted.

“Should I feel bad about being such a dick to my therapist?” Bucky asked as he picked up his panini and bit into it, while Darcy shook her head.

“I don't think so,” she replied. “I mean, if it was some sort of serious mental issue, yeah, you need to listen to your therapist, dude. But this isn't that. This is...different. Not everyone gets it.”

“True,” Bucky agreed as he took another bite of his sandwich before adding, “like seeing an alien or something.”

“Unless you count the boys who run the grocery store,” Darcy said with a snort. “I swear to god, they talk like they're from another _planet_.”

“Yeah, I met Thor already and he's a Grade A weirdo, always talking like he's jumped right out of Middle Earth or something. What planet is he even _from_?”

“Norway.”

Darcy responded with such a deadpan even tone of voice that it was met with utter silence. After a long moment, the two friends burst out laughing.

~*~

The trip to town didn't exactly solve anything, but Bucky did feel a little better as he headed home. Darcy's only real suggestion (once they stopped making fun of the Odinson brothers, that is) was to move away from the woods, but Bucky hadn't been able to agree to that. His sister had _built _him this house after all, he'd feel too guilty about selling it so soon after moving in.

Bucky's trek from the main road to his front door bore no creepy vibes or disembodied voices, which was a relief. As far as Bucky was concerned the less he heard, the better.

Admittedly, even as Bucky mentally remarked on the lack of anything unsettling happening, he could not recall any time where he actually _felt _any creepy vibes or that heavy, negative feeling so many people on those haunted house shows reported sensing. He always got freaked out _after_ the fact, but never before.

Bucky had no clue what it all meant, and as he moved into the house he banished the thought, for the moment at least. Instead opted for making himself something to eat, despite the fact that he'd already eaten barely an hour earlier.

He built himself up a monstrous sandwich, then paired it with a bag of salt and vinegar chips and a beer before he moved to the living room to watch some TV. Outside the wind seemed to be picking up, and it looked like a storm was on its way. Bucky had never been a fan of New York's humidity, but he was happy to tough it out for the thunderstorms.

Bucky bit into the sandwich with a satisfying crunch from the spinach, and the pleasant tang of turkey and mayo. He sipped his beer, and turned his attention to the TV, where he put on _Forensic Files, _even as the wind grew stronger, and the lights flickered ominously.

“Don't you dare,” Bucky said to the overhead light, like it would listen to him. He bit into his sandwich again, polishing the whole thing off in under five minutes, his stomach cramping a little from the speed with which he ate, made worse when he crammed a handful of chips into his mouth on top of the sandwich, and he ignored the little voice in his head that threatened that he was going to get sick.

After everything, a little stress eating wasn't going to hurt him any.

Halfway through the first episode, the rain finally began to fall in large drops against the window. Thunder cracked loudly overhead, closely followed by flashes of lightning. Though it was barely past noon, the sky was already almost black.

Bucky abandoned watching TV in favour of watching the storm, which proved lucky, as in the same moment his power went out.

“Great,” he grumbled, placing a hand on the sofa's arm rest in order to get up and look for candles, but the moment he touched the sofa his lights flickered back on, just as another crack of thunder made the windows rattle.

Bucky shrugged, pleased with this development, and moved over to the armchair nearer to the window in order to watch the progression of the storm. Often huge storms like this were over in a matter of minutes, but Bucky got the impression that this one might last a little bit longer, given that the wind seemed to be picking up, not dying down.

Bucky let out a blissful sort of sigh as he watched the sky. Thunderstorms always relaxed him.

The added bonus of the storm was the fact that with all the noise, he couldn't hear any of the creepy laughter that he'd been privy to lately. Bucky kept his gaze firmly upon the sky however, unwilling to risk seeing any spooky ghost lights in the dense, dark forest.

Perhaps if he had, Bucky may have noticed a dark figure watching him from the depths of the woods.

Bucky did not look however, and he kept watching the storm.

~*~

In the early evening after a wildly unproductive day of thunderstorm-watching and cat naps in front of the TV, Bucky decided to cook himself some real food for dinner, mostly in the hope that it would make him feel human again.

After a quick run to the store to gather the necessary supplies (thankfully without too much weirdness from Thor), Bucky was in the middle of baking his eggplant parmesan when his phone began to buzz with a sudden flurry of texts.

**Darcy – 7:11PM**

_I have a really bad idea._

**Darcy – 7:12PM**

_It's gonna be an adventure._

**Darcy – 7:12PM**

_You ready?_

**Darcy – 7:13PM**

_Me and Jane are gonna go ghost hunting in the woods. Wanna come? _

As Bucky looked over the texts, he could not help but roll his eyes. That was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard.

Or it was stupid if ghosts were real and Bucky wasn't actually crazy.

**Bucky – 7:15PM**

_You sound exactly like the first five minutes of a Supernatural episode right now._

**Darcy – 7:15PM**

_Don't be such a wuss. It's not like we're gonna die. _

**Darcy – 7:16PM**

_We're going around 10 so that it'll be nice and dark. We're meeting up at the paths on the 7th Boulevard cul-de-sac_

Bucky rolled his eyes again. Yep, this was most certainly the dumbest plan he'd heard in a long time.

**Bucky – 7:17PM**

_See you there._


	4. Ghost Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next chapter is scheduled for March 1st. My beta was in Hawaii this week, so any mistakes are entirely my own. Enjoy!

Chapter Four – Ghost Hunt

Bucky rocked on his heels as he waited for the girls to arrive, and tried to not let himself get  _ too  _ freaked out by the dark woods that surrounded him on all sides. 

It was a pretty big contrast to how his groups of friends had appeared during his time overseas—though hanging out with straight girls who loved everyone sure as hell beat being closeted and hanging out with emotionally constipated homophobes any day of the week. 

Bucky shook his head; he didn't really want to dwell on how most of his brothers had ditched him the moment they'd found out he was queer, save... 

Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. He  _ wouldn't  _ think about that day.

“We're  _ heeere! _ ” Darcy suddenly sing-songed, effectively drawing Bucky from his thoughts, and he smiled as he turned to see two flashlights bobbing along the path towards where he was waiting for them.

“Hey, Darcy, hi, Jane,” Bucky said to each of them, and Darcy rolled her eyes and swatted his arm at his politeness, while Jane smiled.

“Been waiting long, Bucky?” Jane asked, “sorry—we were actually ready much sooner, but Thor wanted to come.”

“He's pretty damn nice to look at, don't get me wrong, but he is so  _ loud _ ,” Darcy complained. “He'd scare all the ghosts away.”

“Darcy, they're not  _ rabbits _ . I'm sure ghosts aren't that skittish—”

“—yeah? Then why do ghosts only come out when it's _creepily_ _quiet_?” Darcy interrupted. “Because they don't like loud Nordic dudes who talk like Aragorn from _Lord of the Rings_. Checkmate.”

Jane looked from Darcy to Bucky, her expression caught somewhere between frustration and affection for her friend. For a moment it looked like she might reply to Darcy's weird ghost logic, but at almost the same time she seemed to realize how futile it would be. Instead she said, “let's just go.”

~*~

Bucky wasn't sure where they were supposed to start this ghost hunt, or indeed why he was poking the bear to begin with. If he was already being haunted, wouldn't seeking something out make it worse?

Bucky wasn't sure, even as he fell into step behind Darcy, and walked with Jane deeper into the woods, though thankfully they kept to the paths. Bucky would have definitely intervened if Darcy decided that taking their misadventure off the paths seemed like a good idea.

“So, how'd she rope you into this?” Bucky said softly as they walked, crouching a little, given how much shorter Jane was to him. “You never struck me as much of a fantasy-squatching-ghost hunt...person.”

“Question one: Squatching?” Jane asked with a laugh, and Bucky chuckled in slight embarrassment.

“Um...it's what you call it when you go hunting for Bigfoot.”

Jane laughed, but it didn't sound malicious. She was smiling as she did it, making her flashlight's beam quiver a little across the path. As she calmed down, she finally answered Bucky's question.

“No, I'm an astrophysics major, if you can believe it,” Jane replied, still smiling as they walked and talked. “I'm working on my doctorate, but getting down to Hawaii for telescope time is pretty expensive. I run the store with my boyfriend and his brother most of the year—when he bothers to show up, that is—and in the winter I'm going down for some real research time. Thor's pretty sad that I'll be gone for like six months, but he's really supportive.” She paused her monologue, and laughed again, this time in seeming embarrassment over her tangent, and finally got back to the point. “Um, I don't really know if I believe in ghosts, but it seemed more fun than watching The Good Place on Netflix again.”

“I definitely believe,” Bucky muttered, more to himself than to Jane. If she heard him she didn't respond, and instead shifted to explaining what her doctorate was about without Bucky asking her to do so. He didn't actually mind; it sounded interesting, even though he only understood about half of what she said.

It went on like that for the first fifteen minutes of their trek. They walked while Darcy raced on ahead, but despite both Bucky and Jane telling her to not run in the dark in the woods she ignored them completely.

That is, until she tripped over a tree root and scuffed her palms, but luckily did not garner any sort of serious injury.

“Told you,” Jane said as they caught up to her. “We can hunt for ghosts just fine without you running around like a little kid, Darcy.”

Bucky opened his mouth to agree, but at the same moment something odd happened.

A voice whispered into his ear; sharp and insistent with warning.

“ _ You're coming too close. _ ”

Bucky felt cold breath on his cheek, but when he whipped his head around, nothing was there. 

“Whoa, Bucky, what's up?” Darcy asked excitedly, apparently forgetting her injury. “Did you see something?”

“I...I thought I heard...” Bucky lifted his flashlight higher, carefully scanning the thick black trunks of the trees, but apart from the eyeshine of a startled raccoon, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Nothing, I guess. Let's keep going.”

Darcy grinned, clearly liking that plan, but as they resumed their walk, Bucky heard the voice again, louder and more clamant this time.

“ _ Turn back, Soldier. _ ”

Bucky skidded to a halt, his eyes widening with alarm. 

He  _ knew  _ he didn't imagine that one. 

“What...” Bucky began, whipping the flashlight's beam around, but this time he  _ did  _ see something.

He hadn't known what he expected to see, but a man hiding behind a tree  _ definitely  _ hadn't been one of them.

Bucky froze. As the light fell upon the man, his eyes seemed to flash a pure, unhindered white. His gaze met Bucky's, and Bucky had the strangest feeling that this man had been the person whispering to him in the woods.

Bucky wasn't willing to let some obnoxious douche in contacts freak him out and ruin the ghost hunt. He puffed out his chest and took a single, solitary step forward.

In the blink of an eye, the man was in front of him.

Impossibly tall, eyes of the purest white with no iris or pupil, they almost seemed to glow in the darkness. His ears were pointed, his blond hair short, and he was dressed in plated armour, as well as a flowing cape of deep, royal blue. 

Bucky was too terrified to marvel at the beauty of the man—the  _ thing— _ before him. An energy seemed to flow around him, giving Bucky the knowledge that  _ yes,  _ he should be terrified. Worse yet, Darcy and Jane hadn't seemed to notice at all that something was wrong.

“ _ Run, Soldier _ ,” the man commanded, eyes still blazing. “ _ Leave this hallowed place while you can. _ ”

Bucky just stared. Mouth agape. The man bared serrated teeth.

“ _ Run! _ ”

Bucky let out a high shriek before he could stop himself. A blinding panic overwhelmed him that hadn't been there before. He turned and bolted back the way they'd come, that deep voice shouting at him as he ran, encouraging him to keep going, and commanding him to alter his direction when he started going the wrong way. 

Within minutes Bucky had staggered back out of the forest, hand clutched to his chest as he struggled to breathe. His legs gave out and he collapsed against the base of a towering alder tree, and tried to stop his shaking.

It made no sense. Why had he reacted like that to that...that... _ thing _ ? He'd managed to keep his cool while watching his comrades got blown to pieces around him, made it back to base clutching Dum-Dum's severed arm in his only remaining one, and never  _ once  _ cracked. He hadn't even cried at their funerals. 

Shock, they called it.

And yet one boogeyman in the woods had effectively turned him into a complete chickenshit. 

“Bucky? Bucky, are you there?”

Darcy's voice came to Bucky like through a telephone can, and when he looked up he saw Darcy and Jane exiting the woods. Jane looked worried, while Darcy looked halfway between annoyed and genuinely angry.

“Hi, guys,” Bucky managed to croak out. Darcy responded by throwing his phone at him, and he grunted as it smacked him in the side of the head. He gathered it up, and saw that the screen was completely shattered. 

“What the  _ hell  _ was that?” Darcy demanded angrily. “We're walking along, not doing anything, then you start shrieking like a banshee and  _ bolt _ . We weren't even a quarter mile in yet!”

“You...you didn't...” Bucky croaked out, his voice almost sounding wheezy, and he coughed once before he tried again. “You didn't see... _ it _ ?”

“... _ it? _ ” Jane asked, her voice quivering a little more than Bucky would have expected of her. Even Darcy's anger seemed to dissolve at his question. 

“What did you see?” Darcy asked, this time without the demanding quality to it, which certainly helped to keep Bucky from spiralling into another panic attack.

“I don't wanna say out here,” Bucky said as he forced himself to his feet, even though his legs felt like they were made of jello. “My house isn't far. If you guys wanna come for a coffee or something, I'll tell you.”

Predictably, both girls eagerly tagged along, and had the good sense to not ask him, “ _ are you okay _ ?” five million times. He hated it when Becca did that, and he was glad his new friends had better sense than his sister did.

Inside the house with all the lights on, Bucky felt immediately calmer. 

He kicked off his shoes and led the girls to his kitchen, where he made coffee for himself and Darcy, and tea for Jane. 

“So, spill,” Darcy said as they gathered around the kitchen table. “What happened out there?”

“It's weird, you're probably going to think I'm nuts,” Bucky warned, and Darcy rolled her eyes. 

“ _ Puh- _ lease, Barnes. You know me better than that. And Jane is the nice one, usually.”

“Usually?”

“Yeah, unless she is trying to be a nerd wizard and totally destroys your iPod—”

“Oh, enough about the iPod!” Jane snapped, rolling her eyes. “My whole system got fried, your stupid iPod wasn't the only casualty, you know.”

“Barring the fact that you're the only person I've heard of who still  _ uses _ one of those—” Bucky interjected, cutting himself off when Darcy gave him the finger, and he laughed.

“Saves room on my phone for porn,” she said bluntly, then took a deep swig of her coffee before she said, “now, spill. What  _ happened _ ?”

“It sounds crazy,” Bucky repeated, sighing as he gazed down into the contents of his own cup. He really would have liked to keep up the banter a little longer. 

“ _ Spill _ ,” Darcy repeated, more firmly this time. “I promise that me and Jane won't laugh at you.”

“All right, fine,” Bucky said, gritting his teeth for a moment before he at last began to explain. 

“So we were walking, everything seemed normal, then I heard this voice. It said... _ you're coming too close. _ ” Bucky shivered as the memories came back to him. Darcy looked like she wanted to interrupt, but Jane nudged her and she fell silent. “Then, we walked a little farther, and I heard the voice again. This time it said,  _ Turn back, Soldier _ .”

“Ooh, creepy,” Darcy said, though despite her words, it sounded like she meant it, and wasn't trying to be sarcastic. “Like it was reading your mind or something.”

“Or something,” Bucky muttered. “Anyway, so I looked around the area I was in to see if someone was fucking with us, and I saw this...this weird guy in the woods. He looked like a really devoted cosplayer or something.”

“Cosplayer?” Jane asked. “Like...Gundam Wing or something?”

“No,” Bucky said, snorting a little. “More...medieval. I thought he was just fucking with us, maybe some kid from town, but when I blinked he was suddenly right in front of me, and... _ fuck _ he was terrifying. Shouting at me and he  _ felt  _ taller than he really was, like he was trying to intimidate me, and he just kept telling me to  _ leave  _ and  _ run _ . He was so loud, there's no  _ way  _ you didn't hear all that shit.”

“But we didn't, that's the thing,” Darcy said, and for the first time she looked a little uneasy. “All we heard was you screaming bloody murder, and when turned around you were bolting for the exit as fast as you could go. It was really freaky.”

“So, what, did I imagine all that?” Bucky mused aloud as he sipped his coffee. “I mean, you can hallucinate with PTSD, but for me that's usually flashbacks, not monsters.”

“That's true,” Jane added in. “I took a few psych classes, so I'm no expert, but isn't that sort of thing preceded by some kind of trigger? Would the woods trigger anything for you, Bucky?”

“Desert maybe, but not northeastern woodlands,” Bucky said, shaking his head a little to banish the images of severed limbs, piles of guts, and twisted, smoking metal from his mind's eye. “This might be nuts, but I think whatever I saw wasn't a hallucination. It felt too real.”

Jane didn't seem to like that notion, and in fact she looked a little frustrated with herself that she couldn't come up with a logical answer to what Bucky might have seen. Darcy just looked scared, for the first time it appeared that she was regretting the whole adventure to begin with. 

Though Bucky didn't say it, he was deeply regretting it too.

~*~

They all finished their drinks in silence, and they listened almost too intently to the sounds of the wilderness outside. Bucky no longer found the ambient noise soothing, but unsettling. What if that  _ thing  _ came back?

“Wanna spend the night at my place?” Darcy asked, perhaps seeing his fearful expression, and though he  _ longed  _ to say yes and hide in Darcy's shitty apartment in the middle of town, his stubborn need to prove that he wasn't scared got to the surface first, and he reluctantly shook his head.

“No, I'm good,” Bucky said, forcing out a crooked grin that Darcy didn't seem to buy for a second. She asked several more times as they sat there, but each time Bucky declined, even as his mind pleaded with him to say yes.

At eleven-thirty, Bucky reluctantly said goodbye to Jane and Darcy. They had said something about having a girls' night, joking that neither wanted to be alone after that, and both women dropped anvil-sized hints that he could tag along if he wanted to.

“I'm good,” Bucky repeated, though he was no longer certain if he was saying it to convince himself or his companions. 

“Well, if you change your mind, we'll be at Jane's house with Thor the Impaler.”

“The impaler is shelved while you're there, Darcy,” Jane said bluntly, and Darcy laughed.

“Shame, I really wish I had a camera for that time I walked in on you guys,” Darcy lamented, as though she was recalling a fond memory. “I still have no idea how you don't walk like...like...I don't know. Something bow-legged.”

“Bears, maybe,” Bucky joked, and Jane glared at him, as though warning him to not give Darcy any more material.

“I think we better go,” Jane said before Darcy could talk any more about Thor's anatomy. “Don't hesitate to come over if you need to, especially since you...well...saw something.”

“I'll let you know,” Bucky replied, cracking a weak smile, and the girls returned it, seeming to understand that it was all empty sentiment.

At last they left, but not without pausing every few steps to look back, as though they wanted to make Bucky come with them. 

Thankfully, they didn't try to drag him out of the house, and once they were out of sight, Bucky shut the door, locked it, and stood there for several long minutes, at a loss for what to do now. What  _ could  _ he do after seeing something like that?

For a moment, he had half a mind to call Becca, but the two things that stopped him was the fact that it was well past midnight, and the knowledge that she'd probably go running to Strange again if he did.

More lectures about how messed-up his brain was and more mindfulness exercises was  _ not  _ what he needed right now.

Bucky meandered from room to room as he tried to find something to do. He  _ could  _ go to bed, but he was too agitated to relax, and instead he curled up on the sofa and played Skyrim for a while. The volume on his TV was up unnecessarily loud in an effort to drown out all the nightly noises of the woods, but it didn't help to calm him down as much as he'd hoped that it would.

Bucky focused on the game, and pretended he didn't hear the sound of footsteps that had started to circle the house.

He pretended he didn't hear it when he shut the game off, and when he headed to bed, he doubled-up on his sleeping meds, ensuring that he'd knock himself out before he could get properly scared.

Hopefully by morning, the weird noises would be gone.


	5. The Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so glad to see more people showing interest in this story ^.^ Next update is scheduled for March 15th. This came out shorter than I'd intended, but I hope you guys enjoy it all the same :)

Chapter Five – The Chase

The days began to bleed together, and Bucky found himself in a state of what felt like permanent exhaustion.

Though he told his therapist, his sister, and his friends that he was just not sleeping well, he tactfully omitted the _reason _that he wasn't sleeping well.

The marching.

The stupid, constant _marching_.

There were so many parts of it that made no sense to him—least of all the fact that some ghost who looked like a medieval knight was apparently haunting the woods near his home. As far as he was aware, Europeans weren't even thinking of sailing the ocean blue during that period in history, and he was definitely too blond to be mistaken for Native American.

And yet, his memory if the knight was still there—his pointy ears and gnashing teeth and terrifying eyes. Bucky _really _wanted to believe that he'd just dreamed up the whole thing, but some part of his brain told him that the knight (however nuts it might seem) was really real.

Worse was the knowledge that Bucky still had no idea what to do about it. How was he supposed to tell a ghost to _stop_ haunting him?

That was, until the fourth day of the night-marching when he left the house early in the morning to find something even worse embedded in the dewy grass.

Footprints.

Footprints that repetitively encircled his house, like someone who had been _marching._

The notion that this person wasn't dead made it even more terrifying to Bucky, but at the same time, more reassuring.

If this thing was physical, he might be able to catch it.

~*~

Bucky didn't talk to Darcy about it. His friend seemed quite keen to forget the whole misadventure, and they'd gone back to how they were before. They shared coffee and pastries, they gossiped about Jane and Thor, which annoyed Jane to no end.

Bucky forced himself to go out with his new friends for an evening to escape the marching, and they went to the only bar in town,_ The Ant and Wasp._

Bucky was determined to have a good time despite his exhaustion and stress over his footprint-ghost problem. The owners were an overly enthusiastic, lovey-dovey couple with an adorable little kid who zipped in and out of the place at random, though always chased off by her gleeful dad, while the wife of the pair offered Bucky's group a round of a beer they called _The Pym_, which, despite the weird name, was actually amazing.

And _strong._

Thor seemed to take the warning of the beer's strength as some sort of stupid challenge, and chugged two of them in quick succession. Bucky felt no burning desire to prove his manliness by giving himself alcohol poisoning, and watched, bemused, as the beer hit the Nordic man like a mack truck, even as he called for another.

At which point Bucky learned that when Thor got drunk, he would get the urge to flash people, and at last Bucky witnessed the legendary Mjolnir for himself.

He learned very quickly that Darcy had not been in any way exaggerating on Thor's enviable size, the moniker _The Impaler _really not giving the massive horse cock justice.

Jane was mortified by the whole ordeal, and kept swatting Thor's arm as she snapped, “_no more flashing!_” but Thor didn't seem to be listening.

As the night began to progress, Thor's presence had given Bucky more than just an eyeful—it had also given him an idea for his current predicament.

A few of Thor's friends traipsed over to their table, all of them with names Bucky couldn't hope to pronounce, much less spell. Bucky was polite, but didn't get much of a word in edgewise, as the group appeared to be just as loud and exuberant as Thor himself was.

However, when the lady of the group—_Sift? Was that a name? _Mentioned their annual hunting trip, and a lightbulb burst to life in Bucky's head.

He could _hunt _this thing.   
  


The craziest part was perhaps the fact that it didn't sound _that _crazy when Bucky had finally sobered up again. It still sounded like a workable plan, provided he didn't _actually_ hurt this guy, or thing, or whatever he was. In the event that it was just some local dumbass who was messing with him, Bucky didn't want to get slapped with any jail time.

With that in mind, Bucky dove onto the internet and procured himself a paintball gun and camo gear, with express shipping.

It took a few days for the stuff to arrive, and in that time there was no change to Bucky's daily routine, save for some enthusiastic apologies from Thor for his behaviour at the bar.

However, Bucky had gotten the impression that he wasn't apologizing willingly, and was only doing so because Jane told him to.

Either way, Bucky didn't mind so much, and accepted the apology readily. It helped to break up the monotony of waiting for his paintball stuff and avoiding staying at his house for longer than was necessary. In truth, this haunting-thing was doing wonders for his social life—never before had he spent so much time away from the comforts of home and out and about in town. Beyond drinking enough coffee to fuel a jet-engine, he also discovered that the twins he'd seen during his first week, the Maximoffs, co-owned a New Age shop called _The Scarlet Witch_. They even had a black and white tuxedo cat named Puffin, who seemed to run the store.

Bucky hadn't gone in, given that he had little interest in New Age-y stuff, though in hindsight, maybe he should get into it, considering everything that had been happening lately.

_I am not a crazy crystal lady,_ Bucky told himself firmly as he eyed the pillars of quartz in the store window, half of them knocked over by Puffin, who was presently curled up around a statue of the Buddha. He had no idea if those overpriced rocks would even fix his problem, but as the days passed, Bucky was getting more and more tempted to at least _try_.

Bucky shook his head, tearing his gaze from the crystals. He wasn't that desperate.

Yet.

~*~

At last, three days after placing his online order, his gear _finally _arrived.

Armed with his glow-in-the-dark paintballs and his camouflaged clothing, Bucky settled into the woods near his home for what he expected to be a long night of watching and waiting.

If his ghost showed up, Bucky was _ready_ for him.

That was, until his phone buzzed noisily in the dark, making Bucky curse. Even without looking he knew exactly who it probably was, and he could _kill _Darcy for her shitty timing as he fished the phone from the pocket of his pants.

**Darcy – 9:31PM**

_wyd_

Bucky scowled. The verification that it was indeed Darcy didn't exactly cheer him—he was on a _mission_, damn it, and he didn't have time for their nightly hours-long text conversation.

**Bucky – 9:33PM**

_Sitting_

**Darcy – 9:33PM**

_Just sitting?_

Bucky ignored her response as he switched his phone to silent, and glanced up to check the darkened surroundings. He cursed, only belatedly remembering that whoever this stalker was, they would probably be able to see the light from his phone screen. Bucky quickly shut the thing off completely, and he jammed it deep into his pocket.

Bucky settled back into his hiding place, careful to keep silent as he glared out into the din. He hated himself for not thinking that this _thing _might be able to see the light of his phone, and he hoped desperately that the short conversation with Darcy hadn't been enough to scare it off.

Thankfully, either this thing was very stupid, or very confident, given that not a full five minutes after Bucky had shut his phone off, it began.

_Stomp, stomp, stomp._

The sound of the thing's even, precise footsteps filled the night air.

The soft sounds of the woods seemed to fall silent, and yet oddly Bucky did not find this to be some sort of bad omen. In truth, it felt more like the creatures were being quiet out of respect instead of fear.

_That's stupid_, Bucky immediately thought as he shook his head a little, _animals don't think like that, except maybe in Disney movies._

Bucky tried to dismiss the odd thought as the footsteps got closer to him. The approaching sound made his stomach flip-flop with nervousness, even as Bucky silently hefted the paintball gun onto his shoulder. He had worn his uncomfortable plastic prosthetic for precisely this purpose, using the contraption to brace the weapon, while his finger curled over the trigger, though he didn't fire—not yet. He needed to be sure that he had a clear shot before he fired; one wrong move and he'd probably lose his chance of _ever _catching this damn thing.

The footsteps continued their approach, and then faded just as quickly. To Bucky's utter confusion, he saw nothing at all pass him by.

_What the hell?_

Bucky squinted into the dark, just to be sure. His vision was 20/20, and generally he had no need to squint, but he wasn't an owl, so his night-vision was far from perfect. He knew that there was barely twenty feet between his hiding place and the side of his house, which he could see the outline of easily enough, and yet somehow the thing had passed him entirely unseen.

What the hell was he going to do _now_?

For a brief moment, Bucky's finger went lax, dropping to the handle of the paintball gun as he felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him. If he couldn't see this thing, was it really even there? Was this all in his head? Had his sister and therapist been right all along?

_Wait, the thing leaves footprints! I'm not crazy!_

With a newfound jolt of excitement, Bucky dropped his gaze to the ground, and began to look feverishly for proof of the thing's existence.

It took Bucky a moment to find them, but sure enough, there were footprints embedded in the grass around his home, exactly as he had seen earlier in the week.

_Oh, great, it's an invisible monster_, Bucky thought with a grimace, some of his excitement dimming, even as the sound of footfalls continued around his house. _In that case, I'm really gonna have to remember everything from my sniper training..._

Bucky lined up a shot with the most consistent line of footprints that led along the back of his house. He held his position, watching, waiting, and most importantly, _listening._

For someone untrained, it may have felt like an uncomfortably long few minutes to hold such a position without fidgeting or making some kind of unnecessary noise and unwittingly announcing their presence to their target.

Thankfully, Bucky had been trained for this, and he could wait for hours if needed for the perfect shot to present itself. It was familiar territory, and Bucky found that oddly comforting, rather than disquieting. He held his position, kept as still as possible, and hardly dared to breathe. One of Bucky's legs was cramping up from the position, begging him to move, but he kept still. He couldn't miss his opportunity, which could come at any time. He _refused _to screw this up.

At long last, the footsteps began to approach again. Bucky steadied his paintball gun, and as he saw the grass began to compress with invisible steps not far from where he hid Bucky took careful aim, and fired.

The projectile hit its target with the sharp _plink _of plastic hitting metal, and a bright yellowish-green stain bloomed into existence in midair. The footsteps stopped, the invisible person perhaps confused as to where the spot had come from, but whatever the cause, it gave Bucky the opportunity to fire off several more shots with a fierce _rat-a-tat_ from his gun.

A number of the paintballs hit their desired target, lighting the thing up like a Christmas tree. Even more missed the target entirely and painted the side of Bucky's house with the neon goo. Unfortunately, the thing seemed to have worked out that he was being fired upon and raced for the trees, the paint shining as it zoomed away.

Bucky shouted, in truth not all certain what he said as he jolted to his feet and staggered from the bushes on stiff legs. Regardless of how his legs refused to cooperate, Bucky quickly made chase, in particular now that he had something to follow.

Bucky tossed aside the gun as he ran. There'd be no point holding onto it in the woods when it'd only hinder him. He raced after the light given off by the paint as it zipped through the trees like some sort of oversized firefly, the sight of it reinforcing that he was dealing with something _real_, and not some sort of spectre.

Somehow, that knowledge made whatever this was even more terrifying, but in an odd, manageable sort of way.

A real thing that Bucky could kill if he needed to.

Bucky wove through the trees, and his shouts of, “_hey!” _and “_stop!_” went entirely ignored. The thing, still invisible save for the paint spots, seemed pretty keen on shaking him, and yet it didn't quite know how impossible that was for someone as stubborn as Bucky. He was determined to catch it, even if he had to run all night.

After what felt like close to half an hour of running, the glowing spots Bucky had chasing abruptly disappeared into the gloom, making him swear. Had the thing teleported or something?

Bucky raced forward, and to his shock, he found a man sprawled on the ground, tangled in what looked to be some sort of ancient fur trap made out of old, rusty barbed wire.

The spots of paint on his armour told Bucky that this was the same person he'd been chasing, that and the fact that he was wearing _armour_. Who did that outside of comic conventions or Renaissance Faires?

The other odd thing was the fact that it would have taken little for anyone to get themselves out of the tangle, maybe a few tugs and a tetanus shot for good measure.

Despite this, the man lay there as though he'd been caught by the ankle in some sort of powerful bear trap, and didn't move, though he did not look at _all _happy about it.

“Fine, you've caught me,” the thing said, his voice deep and even as he met Bucky's gaze. The man's eyes were crystalline blue, and no longer the terrifying white he remembered seeing before, and his teeth looked normal now, no longer serrated like a shark's. Without the creepy voice and scary eyes, Bucky didn't fail to notice how attractive he was, and he felt his heartbeat pick up a little bit, even as he tried to ignore that aspect of his would-be stalker. “What is it you want? Gold? Jewels? Power?”

“What?” Bucky blinked, losing his composure only for a moment at the man's odd choice of words. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It's the rule, isn't it?” the stranger asked, his tone seemingly caught somewhere between sour and sarcastic. “Capture one of my kind, and I am under oath to grant you any wish that you desire.”

“Your..._kind?_” Bucky asked, blinking slowly as he tried to wrap his head around what he was hearing. The man seemed just as confused, though in a way that suggested that he assumed Bucky already knew all of this, and was thrown due to the fact that Bucky _didn't _know.

However, when the man next spoke, nothing in the world could have prepared Bucky for what he said.

“A fairy, of course.”


	6. Fairy Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for March 29th. Enjoy!

Chapter Six – Fairy Law

Bucky stared.

Had he just heard what he  _ thought  _ he heard?

“A...a what?” he stammered out, and the attractive man blinked slowly, as though he didn't understand Bucky's confusion.

“A fairy,” he repeated simply. “We followed our humans here from the Old Lands. Some call us Sidhe.”

“You don't look very much like a  _ she _ ,” Bucky pointed out, arching a brow, but the man just blinked at him with polite confusion, even as Bucky continued to plough forward. “Or a fairy, actually. Why aren't you little and sparkly and how come you got no wings?”

“I said fairy, not sprite,” the man said icily, like Bucky had voiced some sort of horrible insult to him, though as far as Bucky knew, it was the same thing.

“What's the difference?”

“One is a sprite, and one is not. I am not.”

For a moment, Bucky could do nothing but continue to stare. This guy did not look in any way like Tinkerbell, or any other fairy-variant he could think of—little and pretty, and covered in glitter. This guy definitely didn't appear little in  _ any _ sense of the word. 

In fact, in any other scenario, Bucky would consider this beefcake precisely the kind of guy Bucky would love to climb on top of and ride like a stallion.

“So, there's like...different kinds of fairies?” Bucky finally managed to ask, and the man eyed him with vague annoyance, though Bucky wasn't really sure what he had done to spark that particular reaction.

“Many,” the guy said bluntly. “Are you going to ask for your wish?”

“Wish, sure,” Bucky echoed, though he still had a hard time believing it. The phrase however sent a shiver down his spine. Ever since he'd been medically discharged, he  _ hated  _ the concept of wishing for anything. “So, is this a no-hold-barred sort of wish, or are there a few provisos, or quid pro quos?”

Bucky giggled in spite of himself, while the guy (he still couldn't think of him as a  _ fairy _ ) merely goggled at him.

“Erm...no. Fairy Law dictates that you have captured me, and I can offer you one wish in return. In Otherworld, the stipulations would be different.” 

“ _ Fairy Law... _ ” Bucky echoed, and he wanted to laugh again. It sounded so made-up. “You guys actually have a code of conduct?”

“Yes?” the man replied, cocking his head a little. His eyes seemed to shine like stars in the moonlight, and Bucky felt his breath catch a little. He really was a gorgeous man—for a fairy, that is. “We have many laws. Are you going to make your wish now?”

“Nah. I think I want to get some answers to my questions first,” Bucky said, suddenly regretting that he'd tossed away the paintball gun. It felt weird to conduct an interrogation without a weapon in hand. “First: why were you walking around my house?”

“I have my reasons,” the man replied simply, which made Bucky grind his teeth. 

“Fine, if you wanna play it that way, we'll start with something a bit simpler—you got a name, fairy-man?”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” Bucky repeated. “Steve the Fairy?” That sounded far too stupid to be real.

“It is not stupid, it is my name,” Steve the Fairy said, and Bucky felt his face flush red. He'd forgotten that this guy could read minds. “Steven. House of Shield. We're the sentries who guard the entrances to Otherworld and the Storm Cages.”

“Storm...Cage?” Bucky blinked. “What the hell is that?”

“Not something you need to worry about... _ human _ ,” Steve said, though it sounded almost like he felt bad about referring to Bucky as that. “It's a prison for our traitors and criminals. They are hidden on earth where no man would wish to look.”

Bucky wasn't sure what  _ that  _ meant, but before he could ask about it, Steve was barrelling forward again.

“Please, make your wish. The iron is starting to burn me.”

“Iron hurts you?” Bucky asked, blinking. That sounded like something out of a paranormal TV show. “Salt? Holy Water?”

“Do I  _ look  _ like a Dark Fairy to you?”

“Right now you just look like a Grumpy Fairy.”

“I am honour-bound to stay by your side until I grant your wish, human,” Steve said, sounding a little tired this time. “Can you  _ please _ let me out? Or make your wish? Or...anything?”

“You know what?” Bucky began, and smirked a little. “Maybe I won't. I think you get to stay  _ right  _ here until you answer some of my fucking questions, Fairy-Man. Why have you been following me?”

Steve glared back at him, but bared his teeth with a hiss of pain when Bucky reached down and tightened the rusty barbed wire around his leg, and Bucky noted that his teeth looked normal at the moment, and no longer serrated, but his ears were still pointy like an elf's. His full-body armour appeared to be blocking the wire from touching him, but somehow it still seemed to be hurting him. 

“You are in the quadrant I am instructed to watch,” Steve the Fairy finally choked out, “I wasn't following you—”

“—yes you were,” Bucky interrupted, his tone darkening a little as he tightened the wire, not even flinching when it bit into his palm. “Weird weather around  _ just _ my house, noises at night, lights in the woods, electrical anomalies, and let's not forget the time you went all Evil Galadriel on me and  _ chased me  _ out of the fucking woods!”

Steve was sweating now. Bucky could see perspiration on his forehead, even though it looked an awful lot like he was sweating starlight. He seemed to be trying his best to not shout out in pain, but when Bucky glanced down, the wire still hadn't penetrated his armour in the slightest. 

“I was just doing what I was commanded to do!” Steve gasped, breathing hard. “Please, just tell me your wish and I'll go!”

Steve sounded desperate. A high, keening desperation he'd heard from prisoners during his time overseas. The sound dragged him back there, and it startled him so much that he jumped back from Steve, and he tugged the barbed wire with him, accidentally releasing the fairy in the process. 

Bucky cursed, and leapt forward with the wire in hand, but he was too late. 

Steve had gone, and Bucky was left alone in the dark woods.

~*~

Getting home that night should have been really tricky, but for some reason Bucky found himself making it to the edge of the wood easily, and without getting lost once. 

After Bucky headed inside, he was given another surprise, and discovered that he'd been gone for less than ten minutes.

That is, if his microwave clock was to be believed.

Bucky was  _ certain  _ that Steve had something to do with that, but he was too freaked out and too tired to complain about it much. Instead he took a shower, bandaged up his hand, and vowed to locate the village clinic in the morning for a tetanus shot.

Bucky shuffled into bed, trying to ignore the faint stinging of his palm. He read a little to try and calm his mind, but he was too tired to really focus. 

Instead, Bucky shut his light off, and tried to get some sleep.

~*~

The following morning, Bucky didn't really know what he expected to wake up to. Maybe some sort of new weirdness the Fairy-Man decided to torture him with, like filling his house with songbirds or deer or something. 

In truth, Bucky didn't know a whole lot about fairies, and had been pulling most of his expectations directly from Disney movies.

When he woke up to nothing out of the ordinary however, he felt an odd sense of disappointment. Maybe he'd just  _ imagined  _ the whole thing?

Bucky clenched his hand into a fist, and his palm stung. When he looked down, the bandage was still there. He yanked back the gauze to be sure, but the barbed wire injury hadn't disappeared overnight. 

Unfortunately, it appeared as though he  _ hadn't  _ imagined the whole weird night.

“I'll freak out about this later,” Bucky grumbled as he staggered out of bed and headed for his bedroom door. “Coffee, clinic, then maybe a panic attack if I find the time for it...”

~*~

The clinic, Bucky discovered, was almost a twenty-minute walk from his house into the centre of town. It was a small mercy that the outdoors were comfortably crisp that morning, making the walk comfortable, and when he did at last make it to the clinic, it was mostly empty.

Bucky checked in with a disinterested receptionist, that is until he flashed his VA Benefits card, and she mumbled a sheepish, “ _ thank you for your service”  _ that made Bucky's insides squirm unpleasantly. It always made him feel weird when people said that to him.

Thankfully with the mostly-empty clinic, he was given a blessed reprieve from the curious stares of the other people in town due to his missing arm—save for four or five elderly people who kept giving him suspicious glances, like he was some sort of criminal.

_ Maybe it's the hair _ , Bucky mused to himself, utterly ignoring it while he immersed himself in a Michael Crichton novel, and waited for his turn.

When Bucky's name was called half an hour later, he was greeted at the examination door by a friendly-looking doctor with dark curly hair, black rimmed glasses, and a white lab coat over his purple shirt and dark slacks. 

“James Barnes, right?” he asked. “I'm Dr Bruce Banner, I'll be your doctor today.”

“Just call me Bucky,” Bucky said, reaching out to shake his hand, but hesitated when he remembered that it was all bandaged up. Banner just smiled however, and motioned for him to come inside. 

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Banner asked as Bucky sat down in one of the available chairs, Bucky laughed a little.

_ I was chasing a fairy through the woods and used old, rusty barbed wire as an interrogation tool. _

“I...um...I was jogging in the woods and fell on some old barbed wire and cut my hand. I think I need a tetanus shot or something.”

“May I have a look?” Banner asked as he snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, and Bucky nodded, grimacing a little as Banner peeled away the roughly taped-down gauze in order to display the jagged pinpricks along his palm. They were a lot more red and swollen than they had been the night before, and Bucky knew that that could indicate an oncoming infection.

“Are you taking any medication, Bucky?” Banner asked as he prodded at the wounds, making Bucky wince. 

“Um, a few for PTSD and Insomnia,” Bucky replied. “Effexor and Seroquel. I'm not sure it's relevant, but I sometimes take antacids too; the Effexor gives me heartburn.”

“Okay, well, you'll definitely need a tetanus shot at the very least,” Banner said as he leaned back and began to gather up some wide bandages and a bottle of something from above the examination table, then came back in order to dress the wound with the ointment and one of the bandages, before he handed the rest of the stack to Bucky. “Keep it clean and bandaged, but let it breathe at night, okay?”

“All right,” Bucky replied easily. That didn't sound so bad. “Will the tetanus shot give me any side effects?”

“It could,” Banner replied with an affirmative nod of his head. “Tenderness at the injection site, mild fever, nausea...those are the most common. I'd let yourself rest for a day or two afterwards, but if it lasts for more than that, or if something more serious happens either come back to me or call an ambulance if you can't get here.”

“There's ambulances out here?” Bucky blurted out before he could completely think it through, but instead of offense, Banner laughed warmly.

“We're a small town so we don't have any of our own, but we share an EMT service with the Kennedy Hospital one town over,” he explained, and Bucky felt himself relax a little. This guy was definitely easy to talk to. “Now, let me get the vaccine ready so we can get you home, all right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Let's do it.”

~*~

Though Bucky had never been a fan of injections, at least the soreness in his arm promised that he wouldn't die of blood poisoning or something. It was odd to feel  _ good  _ about the slight ache, but he made himself feel better by getting himself a dipped cone at the ice cream shop, served once again by the excitable Peter, though he didn't really absorb anything that the teen said to him.

Now that he'd finished with the clinic, his mind had jumped back to the problem at hand—he'd run into a real, live  _ fairy _ .

And, like an idiot, he let it get away. 

Bucky scowled as he bit into the chocolate-salted caramel crust that encased his ice cream. Clearly, he was out of practice with interrogating people—his mental health issues had made him too soft. Now he couldn't even go out on the Fourth of July without freaking out—how was he expected to question a supernatural being like  _ that _ ?

_ Or even find it, _ Bucky thought with a grimace, and shook his head as he continued to walk back home.  _ Chances are, that's the last time I'll ever see that guy. _

~*~

“Or...maybe I spoke too soon.”

Bucky's words slipped past his lips as he stopped about ten feet from his front door. There, leaning against the wooden siding of his house was the supposed fairy still looking distinctly grumpy, with his thick arms crossed across his chest as though he'd rather be  _ anywhere  _ but at Bucky's house.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky hissed as he stormed up to him. “Someone is going to  _ see  _ you, and I'm not in the mood to explain to anyone why a Knight of Camelot is hanging around my damn house!”

“Only those who have seen the Fairy can see the Fairy,” Fairy-Man said cryptically. Maybe it showed on his face that Bucky didn't have a  _ clue  _ what he was talking about, and he hastened to explain, “because you have seen me, now you will always see me, and other Faelings. Anyone who has not seen my kind cannot see me.”

Bucky stared. He didn't think that explanation made any more sense, but he curbed the temptation to ask for more clarification. Chances were he'd just get more riddles, and then he'd be even  _ more  _ confused than before.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky repeated instead. “I figured I'd never see you again after you slipped away last night.”

“I owe you a wish,” the fairy replied, his arms tensing across his chest. “You captured me. I need to uphold my end of the bargain.”

“A wish,” Bucky said dryly. “ _ Right _ .”

“I am not trying to deceive you,” Steve said crossly. “It is Law. I must fulfil your wish before my duty to you is ended.”

“Maybe I don't want a wish,” Bucky countered as he sauntered towards the door, and pulled his keys from his pocket, a complicated task with an injured hand and an ice cream, but somehow he managed it without embarrassing himself. “Maybe I want you to stop hovering around my house and let me get back to the boring, solitary life as a shitty artist.”

“That in itself could be a wish,” he pressed, following Bucky, but stopped short of his front stoop as he gazed pleadingly at Bucky. “I don't understand. Why won't you make a wish? Then I can leave you in peace, and you'll not see me again.”

“You can't make your life better by  _ wishing  _ it,” Bucky retorted icily. “If that were true, I could've wished my dad back to life when I was fourteen, or wished for Ma to quit drinking, or wished my buddies back when they all got blown to fucking pieces. There was barely enough left of them to fill one single coffin, and you want me to  _ wish  _ for something? Fuck you.”

Bucky stormed into his house, and slammed the door in Steve's stupid handsome face.

~*~

Bucky lazed on the couch while he finished his ice cream, went to his barely-unpacked studio, but he was too angry to pick up his pastels or any of the other supplies strewn around the room, half in and out of boxes. Some of his unsold artwork was propped against a wall, and even at a distance Bucky could see the perfectly encapsulated fits of rage, terror, and sorrow as he painted through his Post-Traumatic Stress. Before he'd gone into the army he'd never even picked up a  _ pencil  _ before, but his therapist often said he had a gift, and that art was a good, healthy way to purge himself of negative thoughts and emotions, in particular following his nightmares.

It had been true, but Bucky still couldn't claim that he was any sort of great artist. Most of his work was abstract swirls of jarring, clashing colour. Jagged lines that pierced soft tones, and Becca, who was also more of an artistic person, often told him that his artwork made her uneasy, though she never explained why.

However, Bucky knew that he needed to do  _ something _ before he caved in to his temptation to find something made of iron to beat up the stupid, handsome fairy with. He could hear him pacing outside, and he got the distinct impression that Steve had no plans to leave anytime soon.

With his teeth gnashing together, Bucky hefted a fresh canvas onto his easel, grabbed his palette and paints, and began to work.


	7. If Wishes Were Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next chapter is scheduled for April 12th. Everyone stay safe out there, and please enjoy! :)

Chapter Seven – If Wishes Were Horses

Bucky had hoped that Steve would have gotten the hint by morning. Unfortunately, to Bucky's ever-growing frustration, the so-called fairy was still loitering on his property like he had nothing better to do than annoy Bucky to death.

Bucky forced his gaze away from the bedroom window, and stomped down harshly on the niggling sense of guilt that had begun to bubble up in his stomach.

He didn't feel bad about leaving Steve outside all night.

He _wouldn't _feel bad about it.

Bucky stormed into the kitchen, and slammed a cast-iron pan down on the stove, but the implement only reminded him of Steve. He wondered idly if hitting Steve with it would burn him like the barbed wire had, or would it just really hurt?

The whole notion screamed of Samwise Gamgee, which made Bucky giggle out loud. Considering everything that had been happening, the comparison was very apt.

Bucky swapped out the cast-iron for one of the normal non-stick pans, then headed towards the front door, swinging it open a little too harshly, and making the fairy jump, which almost made Bucky laugh again.

“Look, if you're going to loiter around my front lawn, the least you can do is come in and have breakfast with me.”

“Is it your _wish _that I have breakfast with you?” Steve asked, and Bucky scowled at him.

“No, it's a _want_. I _want _you to have breakfast with me. I even swapped the pans for one you're not allergic to.”

“Allergic...?”

“I mean it's not iron, you dingus,” Bucky said, and Steve smiled at him shyly, almost hopefully.

Bucky tried to ignore the smile, given that it had lit the big man's face up, and made him so adorable that Bucky almost couldn't handle it.

He needed to keep his guard up. This was a guy who was pretty much an embodiment of magic. One wrong word and he'd probably end up as a goat-man for the rest of his life or something.

Inside, Bucky dismissed his plans for bacon and eggs, and opted for homemade blueberry pancakes instead. The fairy sat at his kitchen table quietly, and Bucky tried not to look at him while he worked. It looked almost ridiculous, like he'd hopped right out of one of his fantasy novels, and was now sitting at his kitchen table like it was _normal_.

Except, when Bucky at last finished the pancakes and turned around, he nearly dropped the platter in his hands, because Steve was no longer in his full-body armour, but jeans and a T-shirt.

“It's just a glamour,” Steve explained as Bucky continued to stare at him. “I heard that this might make you more at ease.”

“I guess by _heard_ you mean you read my mind?” Bucky demanded snappishly, more angry than he probably should have been, but the modern clothes gave Bucky a perfect view of his thick, muscular arms, his deliciously broad chest, narrow waist, and noticeable bulge in his jeans.

Bucky quickly began to mentally sing Oasis's _Wonderwall_, playing it on repeat so that Steve wouldn't hear what he _really _thought. By Steve's bemused expression it seemed to have worked, though he couldn't imagine doing this every single time he caught a glimpse of the fairy-man's truly _glorious _body. He'd probably get sick of Oasis _really _fast.

“Can you just...” Bucky began, but he had no idea what he wanted to say, and awkwardly trailed off as he set the platter down, and began to serve up the pancakes. Steve blinked at him, looking so normal—so _human—_that it was hard to believe that this guy was actually a fairy.

“I am fairy folk, no matter how human I appear,” Steve said simply, and he folded his arms across his chest, like he'd been offended.

“Okay, you _need _to stop doing that,” Bucky ground out. “I can't control my thoughts, so you're going to just have to deal with all the weird shit that pops into my brain.”

“Do you _wish _for me to stop hearing your thoughts?” Steve asked, arching a brow at him, and Bucky clenched his teeth. Much more of this, and they'd be ground into nubs.

“I _want _you to knock it off,” Bucky said firmly. “I _don't _wish for things.”

“Why not?” Steve asked, cocking his head to the side a little. He suddenly began to chew, and when Bucky glanced down at the plate in front of Steve, he noticed that the pancakes had been adorned with an unhealthy glob of butter, too much syrup, and a neat triangle had been cut out of one side of it.

Except, Bucky hadn't seen Steve touch anything—not the toppings or the utensils.

_Okay, that is just creepy._

“I've never heard of a human outside of Otherworld refusing a wish from us before,” Steve said when Bucky failed to respond. “In this scenario I cannot give you a wish with an ironic twist—it is merely a wish. Why don't you want it?”

“Ironic twist?” Bucky asked, curving a brow at him, and Steve let out a small huff, as though he knew that Bucky was deliberately avoiding answering his question.

“In Otherworld, or Land of the Fairy Folk—it has many names—it is commonplace that we do not let go of wishes that we do not have to. It is law for us to offer up wishes with an ironic twist for the human, such as...someone who wishes for riches, and their spouse murders them to attain their wealth. Or...someone wishes for great artistic talent, but are unable to sell any of their masterpieces.” Steve paused, a small frown upon his face, almost like he didn't approve of that tactic of his homeland, and began to chew again, Bucky noting another piece of the pancake stack had disappeared, and the fairy swallowed before he added, “the goal there is to keep the humans with us, even if they manage to return home. Because you managed to capture me on human lands, I am obligated to grant you a wish with no strings attached. It can be anything in the world that you want.”

“What if...I wished someone back from the dead?” Bucky ventured, and he watched Steve's adam's apple bob as he took another telekinetic bite of the pancakes.

“I would not advise it,” Steve replied seriously. “When one is wished back, they come back where their body is—in most cases, underground. The wish does not cover digging up the corpse or reconstituting decomposed flesh. Most humans, as I understand it, would not be willing to see their loved one like that.”

“I guess it depends on the loved one,” Bucky mused aloud as he finally dug into his own breakfast, though in truth he couldn't fathom picking just one of his comrades to come back—it wouldn't be fair.

Also, seeing them all corpsified and gross would _definitely _fuck him up for life.

“I can't leave until you make a wish,” Steve said, his words insistent and almost forceful. “Can't you just...wish for something simple? A new arm, maybe?”

“People would probably notice if I spontaneously grew a new arm,” Bucky retorted dryly, though admittedly, the notion had _some _merit. It'd be nice to have his arm back again.

“I can make it...different,” Steve pressed, leaning so far forward that he could almost feel the fairy's body heat. Bucky bolted from the table, his barely-touched breakfast abandoned as he let out a groan of annoyance, and shot Steve with a glare.

“You just don't get it, do you?” Bucky snapped angrily. “I don't _want _a wish. And, after what you just told me about how you guys fuck around with what people ask for, why would I even be _tempted?_”

“But...but I just told you that we cannot grant wishes with unpleasant twists in this realm!”

“Realm? _Realm?_” Bucky scoffed. It sounded so ridiculous, it was hard to believe it was even real, even after all that he'd seen. Why didn't Steve _get _it? If he was some kind of super-duper magical being who could _read minds_, why couldn't he take a fucking _hint?_

But Bucky wasn't about to explain it to him—he _couldn't_.

“Fuck this,” Bucky growled, “I need coffee that I didn't make myself.”

Bucky stalked out of his house and slammed the door behind him. Predictably, Steve began to follow, calling something out to Bucky, and in a spurt of childishness, Bucky broke into a run.

Bucky was well-aware that Steve had powers, so it didn't make sense to him why Steve wasn't shifting into hyperdrive or something as he followed him. Bucky didn't much care, it was a relief to get away from the stupidly attractive asshole, and he'd savour every minute he had away from _him_.

Except as Bucky reached town, with Steve not far behind, he was witness to the strangest thing.

As Steve's foot touched the absolute edge, he fell backward with a hiss of surprise, and vanished.

“Well...that takes care of _that_.”

Bucky giggled at his own statement, the sound escaping him with a hysterical note to it as he turned and headed for the café.

“You would not _believe _the day I'm having,” Bucky said with a dramatic groan as he made it to the counter, which caused Darcy to snort.

“Usual, then?”

“Yes,” Bucky replied. “And that cheesecake coffeecake thing you guys have.”

“No blueberry muffin today?” Darcy asked, and Bucky scowled, which made her eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I don't want anything with blueberries right now.”

Bucky headed out to the terrasse, and Darcy brought out his order. It was a little crisp out, but not cold enough for Bucky to want to head inside yet. The spice cake with the ribbon of cheesecake filling looked warm and inviting, especially after the weird morning he'd had.

“So,” Darcy said as she dropped into the seat across from him, “wanna tell me what crawled up your ass?”

“You're not gonna believe me.”

Darcy curved a brow, and without speaking, she pointed to her car. It was an ancient station wagon, the back end of which had been cluttered with UFO, Bigfoot, and other paranormal stickers.

“Chances are, I'll believe you, Mr Sexy War Amps. Now, spill.”

Bucky smirked at her wryly, and she met the expression with a grin of her own. He should've known better than to assume Darcy would let it go that easily, and he let out a long breath before he sipped his coffee, and began to explain.

“So...my house isn't haunted...not by ghosts, anyway,” Bucky began, and Darcy curved an eyebrow at him curiously.

“What you got?” Darcy asked without hesitation, “Poltergeist? Demon?” she paused, and snorted. “_Fairies?_”

Bucky blanched, and Darcy's eyes went wide.

“What, really? Like...tinkerbell?”

“More like a blond Geralt of Rivia,” Bucky replied, and Darcy snorted. “But blond.”

“You just said blond twice,” Darcy pointed out, and when Bucky blushed, she raised her eyebrows. “Damn, Tinkerbell gets a Bucky Blush? He _must _be hot.”

“He was the thing that made me freak out in the woods,” Bucky continued, and that at least that cut Darcy's teasing short while he dug into his second attempt at breakfast. “Then he hung around, invisible, and I sort of...caught him? And now he won't leave.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, and grimaced. “He said he owed me a wish, but I'm really not into wishes. It's hard to explain, a lot of it goes back to adolescent trauma and stuff in the army that I try not to think about. I just...wishing is a trigger, you know? But he says he won't leave 'til I make a wish.”

“You think wishing for someone else would work?” Darcy asked, “'Cause I wouldn't say no to finding a chest of gold doubloons, that's all I'm saying.” She paused when Bucky gave her a look, and smiled at him apologetically. “Bad joke, sorry.”

“It's a thing,” Bucky said with a weak shrug of his shoulders. “I knew this guy once who _hated _the sound of someone knocking on the door. Years back he had trouble with debt, and even after it was all sorted out, he'd get real uncomfortable if someone knocked on his door. That's me, just with a different thing.”

“With a sudden hot roommate?” Darcy offered, and Bucky sighed heavily as he nodded in agreement.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Well, I could ask my Gam-Gam,” Darcy said, and when Bucky arched a brow at her, she let out a little huff. “That's Grandma to you, peasant. She's the very pinnacle of Crazy Crystal-New Age Lady. Talks to her plants and the whole nine yards. I could ask her if she's got any ideas.”

“But does she know about the real stuff, or just...”

Bucky trailed off, and grimaced.

“Or just the batshit stuff, you mean?” Darcy filled in without a hint of offense to her voice. Awkwardly, Bucky nodded. “Well, she's definitely into like...crystal healing and tarot and all that jazz. She's been calling herself a green witch since forever. She always said weird stuff about fairies, like they're not allowed in towns or something, or maybe just _this _town? I don't know—”

“—hang on,” Bucky interjected. “Not allowed in town? She said that?”

“Yeah,” Darcy replied, and shrugged a little while she gazed at him bemusedly. “What's the what, Bucky? Why do you look suddenly so freaked out?”

“Okay, here's the added weirdness,” Bucky said, pausing to take a large swig of his coffee before he continued. “That fairy was at my house, right, and things I guess just got a little too _real _for me and I bailed, like full-on bolted like some stupid kid, and Steve chased after me—”

“_Steve_?” Darcy interrupted with a snigger. “_Steve _the Fairy? The fuck kind of name is _that _for a fairy? It should be like...like...Humphrey or something.”

“_Humphrey _the Fairy?” Bucky demanded with an incredulous snicker. “That sounds even worse.”

“I couldn't think of anything!” she protested, even as Bucky began to laugh. “Shut up, shut up. Just get back to your story.”

“Okay, anyway,” Bucky resumed in between giggles, “yeah, he chased after me, but the second we got to the edge of town it seemed like he hit this sort of invisible barrier-thing, and he just bounced off it before he disappeared. I didn't stick around to find out, I just ran here.”

“Bounced off? Like...the coyote from Looney Tunes or something?” Darcy asked, and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, pretty much exactly like that. It was _super _weird.”

“So...I guess you don't want to go home anytime soon, where he'll bug you again, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky replied, and eyed her oddly. What was she planning now?

“Well, I get off in like...two hours,” Darcy said as she consulted her phone before she glanced back up to him. “Then, you and me are gonna go visit Gam-Gam.”

“Oh...great.”

Bucky forced a smile, and hid his face behind his coffee. Darcy got up in order to get back to work, and said something about _making sure he didn't take off, _which definitely sounded more ominous than she probably meant it.

As Bucky watched her head back inside, he couldn't help but wonder just _what _he'd gotten himself into this time.


	8. Dorothy Lewis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Easter to those who celebrate it! Stay safe, and enjoy this update! Next one is scheduled for April 26th :) 
> 
> **Content Warning: Referenced Past Child Kidnapping, Referenced Past Child Death, Referenced Past Murder-Suicide**

Chapter Eight – Dorothy Lewis

When Bucky envisioned a Crazy Crystal Lady of the like that Darcy kept describing her grandmother as he thought of a hobbit hole, maybe ceramic gnomes in the garden, and healing crystals literally  _ everywhere. _

Darcy's Gam-Gam wasn't exactly what he was expecting, however.

At first, as they turned down the street where her grandmother lived, Bucky jumped when he heard some kind of odd shrieking like a dying animal, which appeared to be filtering back to them from beyond the hedges. 

Bucky moved to check it out, but Darcy stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Trust me,” Darcy said firmly. “Whatever you do,  _ don't _ follow the sound.”

Bucky's first instinct was relief, at least this time he and Darcy were seeing and hearing the same things. His second thought was maybe he shouldn't follow it for some sort of weird crypid reason, but as they got closer, Bucky realized that it wasn't nonsensical shrieking that he was hearing, but someone shouting the word  _ Ohm _ at the very top of their lungs in the most drawn out and high-pitched tone possible.

What the  _ fuck  _ had he gotten himself into?

As they made it past the ivy and hedgerows that bracketed the property, Bucky found himself in a sea of mismatched cobblestones and vegetable gardens so thick that the little one-storey house was barely visible. In fact, it too seemed to be heavily covered in ivy, so much so that it looked more like a natural part of the landscape rather than a place for someone to live.

Instead of the gnomes he was expecting, the property was dotted with saucers of milk or honey, and a number of cats seemed to be enjoying the former, while honeybees stopped regularly on the latter for a refill, their movements lazy and sluggish in the cool autumn day. 

Bucky couldn't decide if the place was whimsical or horrifying, in particular when he stopped to inspect a bee at one of the little saucers of honey. 

Except when he looked closer, he realized that it  _ wasn't  _ a bee.

“The fuck...?” Bucky whispered as he stared at it, just as the little winged black man turned around and gave him the finger, then promptly disappeared.

“What's wrong?” Darcy asked as she stepped up behind him, and grinned when she caught him staring at the saucer of honey. “Oh, yeah. Gam-Gam's little tributes to the Fairy Folk. Mosquitoes  _ love  _ her.”

“I'll bet,” Bucky replied with a weak laugh, Darcy's remark confirming that she hadn't seen the little fairy-man. He didn't really know why he wasn't telling her what he saw in that moment, other than  _ a little black guy with sparkly wings gave me the finger  _ sounded far less believable than  _ a blond fairy knight guy is hanging out at my house and won't leave.  _

“Come on,” Darcy said as she clapped him on the shoulder. “Time to meet the woman of the hour.”

Darcy led Bucky into the house without knocking, and now that he was inside, he could hear that the yelling was actually coming from the back garden. Darcy made him wait in the front room while she went to get her grandmother, shouting, “ _ Gam-Gam! _ ” the whole way, as though she wanted to ensure that her grandmother heard her well before she saw her.

While Bucky waited, he got a chance to really observe his surroundings, and the interior of the little house was more or less in line with what Bucky had been expecting. 

Knick-knacks seemed to cover every surface, ceramic figures of wildlife and mythological creatures, from satyrs to dragons and unicorns. The furniture seemed to all have been stuck permanently in the 1940s, but everything was meticulously clean, and the whole space smelled of pine cleaner and the faintest aroma of fresh bread. Any space not cluttered up with figures was taken over by houseplants, though Bucky couldn't hope to name any of them, given that he was a certified black-thumb, and could kill a pet rock.

The plants certainly aided in the overall airy-fairy feel of the place, and from his vantage point he could see crystals actually sitting in the plant pots, though he had no idea why they were there.

Bucky was impeded from thinking about it further however when a pair of voices began to filter back to him.

“Yoga is  _ good  _ for you, my dear! It helps with all sorts of things—keeps the mind and body  _ sharp.  _ At my age, we need all the help we can get!”

“Yes, but Gam-Gam, do you have to scream  _ and  _ do it naked?”

“Sunlight is  _ healthy,  _ dear. And the chanting helps your circulatory system. Puts you in touch with all  _ sorts  _ of good things. I read all about it in one of my little books that you like to make fun of.”

“Books written by lunatics with no medical licence, you mean...”

“Be nice, Darcy, dear. At my age—”

“—You're  _ sixty-eight _ , Gam-Gam. You're not exactly ancient.”

“Well, how kind of you to say! Yes, I  _ do  _ look quite young for my age, thank you for noticing...”

Darcy made an indistinct grumbling sound that could have been some sort of equivalent to  _ I give up _ , but Bucky wasn't sure. At that precise moment, Darcy and her grandmother finally made it to the room and Bucky at last saw the older woman with his own eyes. 

Gam-Gam Lewis was a tall, thin woman with wavy white hair. At the moment she was dressed in nothing but a pink bathrobe and matching flip flops, but the nails on her hands and feet were both bright purple. 

“Oh,  _ my! _ ” she crowed when she saw Bucky. “Darcy Lewis! How  _ dare  _ you let me come out here in nothing when there is a handsome man in my house!”

“Gam-Gam—!” Darcy began to protest, even as Bucky blushed a deep scarlet, and they both watched as the older woman turned and rushed out of the living room, the only audible sound being the slapping of her flip flops, and the distinct  _ clap _ of Darcy slapping her forehead.

“Sorry about her,” Darcy said after they both heard a door slam distantly. “She does know her shit, she's just...uh... _ eccentric _ .”

“I'd never have guessed,” Bucky replied dryly, which caused his friend to snort. 

“Really, she  _ will  _ be able to help you, I mean, after she finishes hitting on you.”

“Your stock is  _ plummeting _ here, Darcy,” Bucky countered, raising his eyebrows at her, and she snickered again. 

“Just humour me here,” Darcy said. “If you think she's coo-coo bananas by the end of our visit, then I'll never bring you here again.”

“ _ Fine. _ ” Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes in a dramatic sort of gesture, which only aided in making his friend laugh again. 

~*~

Twenty minutes later Darcy's grandmother reappeared in a long, shimmery pink dress, her hair perfectly styled, and her face caked under a thick layer of make-up. It didn't look bad, exactly, but it just seemed a lot for someone who seemed to put so much faith in Alternative Medicine. 

“Now,” she said, whipping her head around in a way that Bucky guessed was supposed to be an attractive hair-flip, but it only succeeded in tangling her dangly earrings in her hair. “My name is Dorothy, dear, but you may call me  _ anything you like _ .”

“ _ Gam-Gam _ ,” Darcy groaned, even as Bucky blushed again. “I brought Bucky here for a reason, not for you to get yourself a boyfriend.”

“Why not both?” she teased as she stepped forward and touched Bucky's shoulder. “Oh,  _ my _ . Dear, you feel like you're made of stone. It's been a long time since a  _ real _ man has been in this house—”

“Gam-Gam,” Darcy said again, this time with more warning in her voice. “We've talked about this. I promise I'll bring Thor around if you really need a man to grope.”

Bucky had no idea what that meant, but at least it got Dorothy to take her hands off him. She smiled at him sweetly, and nodded her head.

“Yes, my granddaughter does like to talk about that  _ consent  _ thing that you young people are all so excited about.”

“And this is the part where you're supposed to apologize, Gam-Gam,” Darcy filled in. “We're here to talk about something pretty serious, not how you think touching Bucky without his permission is justified.”

“What sort of serious thing?” Dorothy demanded as she whipped around to her granddaughter. “Dear, are you in trouble  _ again _ ?”

“What?  _ No!  _ We came here because Bucky has a  _ fairy  _ problem, Gam-Gam!”

Darcy's outburst seemed to jar Dorothy out of Weird Grandma Mode and she jolted, almost like someone had jumped out at her and yelled,  _ boo! _

“Um, Mrs Lewis?” Bucky prompted nervously, “uh...are you okay?”

“What sort of fairy problem are you having, dear?” she asked, a distinct quiver in her voice now that was making Bucky extra nervous. 

“It's kind of a long story...”

“I'll put the kettle on, then,” she said as she bustled towards the kitchen. “Sit down, both of you. I need to hear  _ everything. _ ”

~*~

Bucky wasn't much of a tea drinker—coffee was more his speed.

However, he wasn't so rude as to refuse it, and sipped the Darjeeling out of white teacups with a fancy gold rim, interspersed with the fanciest cookies he'd ever had. He didn't even know that lavender shortbread was a thing until that precise moment, but he definitely liked it.

Unfortunately, he couldn't just sit there and enjoy Dorothy's hospitality—he had to  _ talk _ . 

Starting from the beginning, Bucky told her everything that he could remember. From the second he moved in all the way to Steve the Fairy vanishing at the edge of town, and even included seeing the fairy in her garden, though he wasn't completely certain if the little man-Tinkerbell was relevant. 

Unlike before, Dorothy did not interrupt or make any sort of weird comment. She listened intently, her expression unsettlingly grave, which only made Bucky more nervous the deeper into the story he got.

When he at last finished speaking, Dorothy did not immediately respond. She drank deeply from her cup, and breathed out a sigh, like she was gathering her thoughts.

“Dear, what you must know first is some history of this town,” Dorothy said as she levelled her gaze with Bucky's once more. “The more pertinent parts, at least.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, “like what?”

“This town was settled in 1685, primarily by Irish settlers. The Irish were not well-liked in those days, and the rampant Xenophobia in other villages was just...horrifying. 

“The Irish brought many things to this village—lumber, food, cattle...and their beliefs. What they perhaps didn't know at the time is that their beliefs followed them too.

“You see, the Land of the Fairy, or Otherworld, it is not one fixed point in space. It does not merely exist in Ireland, Scotland, or anywhere specific. They go where their tributes are, so they followed the Irish settlers easily, and probably didn't even know they were in America now.

“Unfortunately, neither did the settlers. They weren't foolish, they still left out offerings, but they did little more than that. Then, one day, a child went missing. Little Maebh O'Connell. 

“The townsfolk searched for her, but despite their best efforts, she never came back. Then four more children disappeared, one by one, they faded into the ether. 

“The townsfolk didn't know what to think, until on the following full moon...they came back.”

“They came  _ back _ ?” Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows. Before he could ask more questions however, Dorothy pressed on.

“Yes, they did,” she confirmed. “Except they were... _ different _ .  _ Changed _ . It took little time for the parents to discover that despite the visual evidence, these were  _ not  _ their children. One of the few ways to get the real children back was...well...a bit extreme.”

“How much is a bit?” Bucky asked, leaning forward in his seat a little, and the older woman grimaced.

“They threw the children into the fire.”

“They  _ what _ ?!” Bucky demanded, eyes wide, but Dorothy's expression did not change. 

“They threw them into the fireplaces of their home, straight into the roaring flames,” she said again, but hearing it with different words didn't exactly make Bucky feel any better. “Fairy Lore tells us that a fairy will return a child if this is done, but in this case, as far as we know, only one child was returned, the little boy of the Rogers family. After that, the wife, Sarah, continued to insist that he was not her child, but no one would listen. One day, she lost her mind. She poisoned the boy with hemlock, but the tales say he didn't die. Then she locked the doors of her house, and set the whole thing ablaze. No one made it out alive.”

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed, his eyes wide with horror. “Where was the husband in all this?”

“He's rarely mentioned,” Dorothy replied as she tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully. “We can only assume that he was either caught inside when the blaze was lit, or left town after his wife and son died. Rogers was a fairly common name, and in those days you could travel fifty miles and no one there would know you.”

“True,” Bucky nodded, though that knowledge didn't exactly make him feel any better. “How does that work into the fact that my...uh... _ the  _ fairy I saw disappeared at the edge of town?”

“I'm getting there, dear!” Dorothy said with a warm chuckle. “Don't be hasty.”

Bucky couldn't help but grin at her remark. However, he forced himself to keep from asking any more questions as Dorothy returned to her story.

“After that, many people began to distrust fairies, and questioned whether it was safe to continue to pay tribute to them. Many people wanted to build something of a barrier to keep them out, while others protested it outright, fearing being cursed by doing something so extreme. And remember that fairies often deal in deadly mischief—if they chose to curse the townspeople, it would not be an easy death. 

“What was decided was those who did not wish to pay tribute to the fairies anymore built iron into the thresholds of the houses, and bundles of ash, oak, and thorn twigs were placed around the town to keep bad fairies out. The side of the village closest to the woods was dug up and bordered with iron, then reburied. Iron burns all fairies, and will cause their enchantments to fall. My guess is that after your fairy touched the iron, he immediately made for Otherworld in order to heal himself.”

“To...heal himself?” Bucky asked, and Dorothy nodded. “Just... _ poof _ , like that?”

“I wouldn't know for sure,” the old woman said patiently. “We only know the human experience of fairy lore, and humans who go to Otherworld never come back. We can only guess at how a fairy might heal themselves, but we do know that they will return rejuvenated.”

“Oh.” Bucky paused, and bit his lip. He tried to find the right question to ask, but before he could, Dorothy began to speak again.

“In regards to the wish that is owed you...” she paused, her expression thoughtful, and she sipped her tea again. “Can you explain to me why you are so hesitant to wish for anything?”

“It's sort of hard to explain to people,” Bucky hedged, biting his lip as he tried to think of how to best phrase it. “I saw a lot of bad things in my teen years and young adult life—more than I should have, really. I didn't have the tools to cope with any of it; I didn't really have many close friends, I wasn't into religion, my guidance counsellor thought I was  _ coping— _ whatever that means—so I had no one to talk to about all this stuff going on in my life. I was a big mess of grief and denial, I couldn't accept that I lost my dad to cancer when I was fourteen years old, and he went so fast I didn't even have time to grasp what was happening before he was gone. My sister  _ couldn't  _ talk about it, and my ma decided to look for a solution to her troubles in the bottom of a bottle. All I had left was the idea of making a wish, and from that, things might get better.

“Looking back, it sounds so stupid—even to me. Birthdays, shooting stars, wishbones, whatever I could get my hands on. It's the only thing my stupid teenage brain could come up with that might bring back everything I lost, but it's no surprise that nothing came true.

“Then I joined the Army, and everything went even more to hell. I lost my brothers, and I just got so... _ angry _ . How could I think something like making a  _ wish  _ might magically make things better? Where did I come up with something so  _ stupid _ ? I just...I just...I can't think about it without freaking out, or getting angry, or both. I can't even make a wish on a  _ birthday  _ candle anymore without getting freaked out. It's awful.”

Bucky hung his head, exhausted and ashamed by his outburst. The only other people who knew about his ridiculous trigger was his therapist and his sister, though he'd never explained it to anyone in so many words. Darcy was gazing at him with both sympathy and confusion, like she couldn't completely understand it, while Dorothy, in contrast, appeared completely calm and unaffected by his tale. 

“I'm sorry you had to go through that, my dear,” Dorothy said gently, and despite the benign nature of her voice, Bucky could feel that she wasn't trying to be dismissive. “Unfortunately, I don't think Fairy Magic accounts for psychological trauma in that way...I know it might be hard, but the fairy you captured will stay around for as long as you refuse to make a wish. Fairies are magical beings, yes, and can have terrible powers, but not all of them are evil. Explaining all this to your fairy might help, instead of making things more complicated.”

“I don't know if I can,” Bucky rasped as he took another swig of the tea, suddenly longing for something stronger, but he didn't want to be rude by asking for it. “I hate talking about all this sh—stuff. This is the first time I've talked about it in years.”

“Well, then I think you need to make a decision,” Dorothy replied, her tone firm, but gentle. “Either continue to dodge this fairy, perhaps have him get more desperate to  _ force  _ a wish out of you in the process, or explain it to him, and hope that he can discover a loophole, something that will not harm either of you.”

Bucky didn't speak at first, jarred by the notion of both this fairy-man hanging around more than Bucky would like, and the idea of baring his  _ soul  _ to someone he hardly knew. 

Logically, Bucky knew that he'd done that already today with Dorothy, but something about her felt familiar, like a grandmother—someone he could trust.

In contrast, Steve felt more intimidating. He was so attractive, and so... _ aloof _ . Bucky had a hard time seeing what lay beneath the surface, and he felt that it was impossible to gauge his response to anything within the realm of  _ human _ . 

“Okay,” Bucky said at last, and Dorothy smiled at him approvingly. Even without saying it, it appeared as though she knew what Bucky had decided.


	9. Thinking Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for May 10th, but I am due to have dental surgery on the 4th, assuming it isn't pushed back again for plague reasons. I'm telling you guys this because I truly have no idea how I'll feel after the surgery is done, so there is a chance of a delay in updating the next chapter, though I hope it won't be -that- bad, haha. Anyway, please enjoy this update! :)

Chapter Nine – Thinking Ahead

Bucky shuffled towards the edge of town with a knot in his stomach. 

He hadn't had any sort of good answer for Dorothy or Darcy's questions over what he planned to do about Steve. When they'd left Dorothy's house, he'd all but  _ begged  _ Darcy to let him crash at her place for a few days, but to no avail. 

_ “No way, Bucky,” she said, “you're gonna suck it up and go deal with your hot fairy. I won't tell you what to do, but one way or the other, you gotta deal with it.” _

Bucky grumbled to himself, thoroughly regretting the fact that he chose to have friends who wouldn't let him hide from his problems, even if it was just for a day or two.

By some wild stroke of luck, Steve the Fairy wasn't hanging around the house when he got home, but Bucky was sure that he wasn't too far off. Given his history with the big, handsome weirdo, he'd probably show back up sooner rather than later.

Bucky revelled in the solitude, smiling to himself as he switched on his music and danced around the kitchen while he cooked some dinner, opting for beer-battered chicken, homemade coleslaw, and a margarita. He needed something festive after the weird day he'd had—and with enough tequila to knock the socks off a luchador, for good measure.

“Good thing I know how to cook,” Bucky said to himself as he topped up his glass, then turned the chicken with a fork, hot oil misting his wrist and making it sting, but not hurt too badly before he went for his margarita again. He chanced a glance outside his kitchen window, but saw no buff fairy outside.

“I take it that won't be your wish, then?” a voice said from directly behind him, making Bucky jolt, his elbow jerking back, and in one swift, unfortunate motion, he knocked his margarita to the floor.

“ _ Fucking shit! _ ” Bucky swore as he whirled around and shot Steve with a glare. “Jeez, wear a  _ bell  _ or something whydoncha!”

“Why?” Steve asked, tilting his head to the side curiously. Before Bucky could answer, he watched as Steve reached down and touched the stem of his shattered margarita glass, fixing and refilling his drink with what seemed to be no more effort than it took to blink.

“Because...because...” Bucky stammered, losing the thread of the conversation as Steve handed the glass back to him, and only then did he notice the acrid scent on the air, and swore. His dinner was burning.

Again, Steve swept in to save the day, stepping in close to Bucky— _ far too close— _ and trailed his hand over the sizzling pan and coal-black chicken thighs, reverting them back to a point of perfect crispness, and removing any black bits from the cooking oil.

“Um...thanks,” Bucky replied as Steve retracted his hand, and let Bucky hastily set aside the margarita in order to scoop the chicken from the pan in order to let it drain, and went about battering the next piece to go in. All the while, Steve continued to stand so close to him that he could feel his body heat, and smell his...scent. It was almost like a cologne, but Bucky wasn't sure if fairies used cosmetics of any kind.

_ Apple pie and morning dew, that's what Steve smells like,  _ Bucky thought before he could help himself, and almost laughed when Steve scrunched up his face, as though he was annoyed about something.

“That was a cruel trick, forcing me back to Otherworld,” Steve said, his mouth twitched into a slight frown, and one of the first expressions of true emotion Bucky had seen from him. However, Bucky wasn't exactly cheered by this, given the accusing look Steve was now directing at him.

“I didn't do it on  _ purpose _ ,” Bucky countered with a scowl. “It's not so easy to be dropped into the middle of all this shit with a stupid fairy-man who keeps harassing you to make a fucking wish.” He ground his teeth as he forced his gaze away, and back to the chicken in order to keep it from burning. “I just bolted like some little greenhorn soldier in his first firefight. I ain't proud of it, either. I can't handle the idea of wishing, or mindfulness, or anything else those quacks on the internet claim is helpful. I just  _ can't  _ fucking do it so I panicked, all right? It wasn't  _ against  _ you personally, I had no idea they had fairy pesticides or whatever the fuck around the edge of town.”

“Yes, I remember now,” Steve mused, and leaned against the counter, staying closer to the sink in order to give Bucky a little more space to work. “It has been a long time since I have been so close to humans, and I forgot that the townspeople here do not like my kind...”

“I can't imagine why,” Bucky said dryly, “especially when you're so damn personable.”

Bucky flipped the chicken, and Steve's lips curled into a faint smirk.

Bucky tried to ignore the eruption of butterflies in his stomach that responded to that smirk, and fixed his gaze firmly upon his dinner.

~*~

With Steve hanging around, Bucky really couldn't think about what he really wanted to think about without the fairy overhearing it. Even so, Bucky couldn't really  _ fathom _ why he still invited the fairy to dinner.

Bucky theorized that it might be a remnant of the brothers-in-arms thing. He could recall with absolute clarity most of his time overseas, and how more than once the wives of the families who lived nearby would bring him and his fellow sentries plates of food or cool drinks, which was always a damn sight better than their MREs. 

Despite that knowledge, Bucky almost felt like the need to feed Steve ran deeper than that, like there was a connection there that he could only tap into when they shared a meal.

And considering the first botched meal they'd shared, Bucky was determined to see this one through, even if seeing bits of chicken and coleslaw magically vanish off Steve's plate was more than a little unsettling.

“I...uh...I kind of need to talk to you about something, but I don't really know how to say it...” Bucky hedged over their dessert of twin bowls of chocolate-peanut butter ice cream. Steve seemed to be particularly enjoying the frozen treat, even if his expression didn't change all that much—likely, he was still annoyed about being bounced back to Fairy Land that morning, even if it was by accident.

“You're afraid,” Steve said simply, and Bucky nodded a little. “This thing you wish to discuss...it scares you?”

“Sort of. I just don't really know the right words of how to explain it...”

“Think it.”

“Come again?”

“Focus your mind on what you wish to tell me,” Steve explained, his voice softer and more patient than Bucky had ever heard it before. “You can think the explanation, or recall memories, it's up to you. Whatever you choose, I will be able to see your dilemma, and what you need to say.”

“Oh, uh...okay...” 

Bucky still wasn't really sure what he was doing, even as he squeezed his eyes shut and recalled his talk with Dorothy from earlier that day. As he ran through the memory of his speech to her, he recalled images that he associated with those horrible memories. It made him feel almost sick, seeing that hospital bed that bore his dying father, his mom slurring her speech as she whipped an empty whisky bottle at his face, the firebomb that killed his brothers, and Bucky _ ,  _ wishing, wishing,  _ wishing— _

_ “Enough.” _

Steve's voice broke through the din of Bucky's onslaught of memory like a hot knife through butter, making Bucky gasp as he jerked back against his chair, making it wobble.

When Bucky recovered enough to turn his gaze back to Steve, he saw that the fairy was breathing hard and his forehead was dotted with perspiration, like he'd just run five miles. His eyes were almost hazy, like he was still caught in Bucky's memories, and his expression was caught firmly in a look of true horror that Bucky had not expected of him.

“Do...do all humans experience these things?” Steve choked out at last, his wide eyes fixed on the table as he spoke. “I was under the impression that they had moved past such... _ hurt.” _

“Everyone experiences some sort of hardship in their lives, but some more than others,” Bucky replied, though that didn't seem to cheer the fairy up at all. “It's not something people can really measure, but I get the impression that I was on the worse end of things, by and large. It wasn't like I grew up homeless or starving though.”

“And despite everything, I can see it...you don't see your life as...hard?”

“Shitty, maybe, but not hard, no.” Bucky shrugged, and he arched an eyebrow when Steve stared at him like he'd grown a second head. “What?”

“All those things in your mind...all that... _ devastation _ .” Steve shook his head in disbelief. “What do you consider hard?”

“Math, maybe?” Bucky forced a laugh, even as Steve gazed at him bemusedly, though in truth Bucky wasn't sure a fairy would really know what math  _ was— _ at least, not in the way a human would understand it. “Um...I guess it's part of being human. Things feel hard while we're experiencing them, but over time they get easier. It never stops hurting, not really, but you learn how to live with it...or without it, I guess. I mean, I still have my sister, I still got a roof over my head, and there's food in my stomach. No one's life is perfect, but I really don't have so much to complain about. I did lose one arm, but it's not like I lost both, you see?”

Steve nodded like he did indeed understand what Bucky was getting at, but on another level it almost appeared like he had  _ no idea  _ how Bucky wasn't a complete wreck. Steve's shock did dim however as something seemed to occur to him, and his brow furrowed slightly.

“I see now why you did not want the wish,” Steve said as he rested a hand against his chin thoughtfully. “But I am still under oath to stay until you make one.”

“What happens if you just...don't?” Bucky ventured, “or...just give me a...gift? I'm open to gifts, just not...the other thing.”

“Why does the notion of a gift not unsettle you?”

“Honestly? I don't know,” Bucky replied as he laughed weakly. “Maybe 'cause...being given a gift shows that a person is thinking of you, or something like that. My sister gave me this house, but she didn't have to. She raised all that money 'cause she  _ wanted  _ to give me a safe space to help me get better. I didn't  _ wish  _ for it, you know?” He paused, and offered Steve an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I told you it's hard to explain.”

“I will need to consider this more,” Steve said thoughtfully as he stood up, reminding Bucky, once again, how  _ tall  _ the guy was. 

“Um, you could crash here, if you want?” Bucky said, forming it more as a question than he'd intended. He felt his heart beating rapidly as he spoke, and despite his best efforts, he  _ knew  _ that he was blushing. “Uh, on the couch or something, you know. There's plenty of room.”

“I should resume my sentry duty,” Steve said as he pushed back from the table, and Bucky felt his face fall a little, even as he tried to arrange his expression into something neutral. Unfortunately, Steve seemed to catch it, and he waved his hand in a vaguely in front of him, like someone might do to bat away a fly, and in the span of an instant all the dishes were clean and the leftovers packed away.

“Uh...thanks,” Bucky said, not entirely sure  _ why  _ he was so disappointed that Steve was leaving, only that despite all the weirdness, now that Steve had promised to come up with some kind of resolution for their wishing problem, his presence felt like much less of a burden. “Will you be...um...coming back? Later, I mean?”

“I have to, I still owe you a wish,” Steve replied delicately as he jerked his head a little, making the glamour of jeans and a T-shirt fall, and once more he was dressed in his full body armour. “Try not to worry yourself over it, Bucky. I  _ will  _ discover a way to hold my end of the bargain without hurting your mind.”

Without another word Steve vanished into thin air, leaving Bucky alone at the table. 

~*~

Bucky quickly discovered that Steve hadn't just cleaned up the dishes from their supper with his little magic trick, but cleaned Bucky's  _ whole house. _

His bed was made, the laundry was done, photo frames were dusted, floor was vacuumed...it hardly felt like the same house anymore. 

Not that Bucky was complaining. Doing housework one arm short was always a bit of a challenge. Even so, it was a little bit unnerving that in the span of an instant all his chores were done.

Without anything to occupy his mind, Bucky lounged on the sofa with a beer and watched the extended editions of  _ Lord of the Rings  _ for the millionth time. Occasionally he would hear footsteps outside his house, but far from find it unnerving, now he found it vaguely comforting.

~*~

_ “I have returned.” _

_ Bucky sat up in bed, his blanket falling to pool at his hips, and he watched as Steve, who was framing his bedroom door with his enormous, deliciously muscular bulk, seemed to be drawn forward by some sort of unseen force, and stepped silently into the room, his armour making no noise as he moved. _

_ “St-Steve?” Bucky asked weakly as he watched him approach, his breath catching as Steve stopped at Bucky's bedside, his eyes seeming to glow in the darkness as he eased down onto the bed, braced his arms over Bucky, forcing him to lie back down, his breath still, and heart in his throat. _

_ “Bucky...” _

_ The word was breathed as a sigh more than a true vocalization. It was like a sound of...bliss.  _

_ Steve leant in close, suffusing Bucky with the scent of apples and morning dew, and their lips met.  _

~*~

Bucky woke with a start, and groaned. His blankets were visibly tented, the last remnants of the romantic dream still clinging to the edges of his mind, and he felt hot in his pyjamas, reminding him quite suddenly why he usually slept naked.

He rolled on his side to check the time on his phone, and found it to be just barely past five in the morning, telling him that he'd slept for about four hours, but this knowledge was hardly enough to get his hard-on to disappear. 

_ Well, it's not like he's here to help me with this little problem... _ Bucky mused vaguely as he rolled onto his back and snatched the hand lotion off his bedside table.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or the lack of sex since he'd gotten to the little town, but at that precise moment Bucky didn't care that Steve could read minds. As far as Bucky was concerned, he was perfect fantasy candy, especially with that  _ height _ and those  _ muscles  _ and that  _ enormous cock _ he was definitely hiding under all that fucking armour.

Bucky let out a blissful sigh as his lotion-slick hand closed around his cock, and he began to stroke it rapidly. He wasn't in the mood for a slow, leisurely jerk-off—this was hard and fast, almost rushed, while his mind flooded with images of Steve in those too-tight human clothes, and what he probably looked like underneath. 

Bucky wondered in a sleepy sort of way if Steve would taste how he smelled—always so fresh and clean, and never muddled with artificial scents or body odour. Would his kisses be hot and demanding, or slow and sweet?

And, most importantly, would he fuck like a lover, or like a fierce stranger who would want Bucky to  _ never  _ forget what his cock felt like?

Bucky groaned, shooting his load into his hand, and he lay there, gasping, his body feeling like it had been turned to jello. For a long few minutes, Bucky couldn't even gather up the physical strength to grab a tissue and clean up his mess and just stared up at the ceiling as the real world slowly inched its way back into his mind.

Eventually, Bucky did roll on his side, still panting, and grabbed a few tissues from the box on his night stand in order to clean himself up. As he did so, he swore to himself as the thought came to him—how was he going to hide this particular thought from  _ Steve? _

Bucky groaned, but he was too tired to freak out about it at that moment.

Instead, he jammed a pillow over his head and tried to get some sleep.


	10. The Fairy's Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welp, my dental surgery was postponed. What a shock. But at least that means you guys don't get any delays :P Next update is scheduled for May 24th.

Chapter Ten – The Fairy's Kiss

Predictably, Steve was still there the following morning.

What was less predictable however was when Bucky woke the following morning, and he found the incredibly attractive fairy  _ in his bed _ .

Or, at least,  _ on  _ his bed.

Steve was perched on the edge of the bed, his armour hidden from view and replaced by a pair of pale blue jeans and a white T-shirt. His eyes were thoughtful and so intensely fixed on Bucky that it caused the human to yelp and yank up his blanket over his clothed chest without thinking.

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing?” Bucky demanded angrily, though his voice escaped him much more high and squeakily than he would have liked. “God, don't you  _ knock _ ?”

Steve seemed to think about that for a long moment, then without even moving a muscle, Bucky heard a polite  _ knock, knock, knock _ sound against his open bedroom door.

“Very funny.” 

“I thought so,” Steve replied easily, and smirked at Bucky. 

“So, did you come to wake me up, or to get another free meal?”

The moment the words had flown from Bucky's lips, he felt himself blush. The statement had been entirely too close to a flirtation for his liking, but luckily Steve didn't seem to notice it.

“I wouldn't say no to your cooking, Bucky,” Steve replied smoothly, though if Bucky wasn't mistaken, Steve sounded much more relaxed than he had been before. At the very least, his language seemed more casual, and far less snotty. He was even smirking a little, like he knew something that Bucky didn't.

_ What changed?  _ Bucky wondered as he crawled out of the bed, and mumbled something about showering first while he grabbed the first clothing he spotted hanging off his desk chair, and hastened to the bathroom and out from under Steve's perceptive stare. 

Amazingly, the shock of waking up to a goddamn fairy  _ in his bed _ had shocked Bucky's memories of the previous night out of the forefront of his mind. In truth, he'd been so startled that it was something of a miracle that he didn't trip over his own feet on the way to the bathroom and wind up flat on his face.

Bucky grimaced, the thought of the dream and what had come after floated dangerously close to a recollection, but he pushed it back as he began to recite Smashmouth's  _ All Star  _ over and over in a bid to  _ not  _ think of it. If Steve got even a whiff...

_ Well, actually, I have no idea what he'd do,  _ Bucky thought as he jumped out of his clothes and stepped into a scaldingly hot shower. He scrubbed his hair with his shampoo, some fancypants organic stuff Becca had turned him on to that made him smell of mint and basil while he thought it over.  _ Maybe he'd not mind so much. _

While the idea of someone like Steve swinging his way wasn't so outside of the realm of possibility, Bucky thought that entering into any kind of relationship with a mythical creature that shouldn't exist was probably a less than stellar plan. 

_ Especially _ when he knew so little about fairies to begin with.

Bucky frowned, suddenly wishing he'd thought to get more info from Dorothy on that day. Maybe if he could get Steve out of his hair for a few hours he could head into town and pay her a visit.

And if he did, he  _ really  _ hoped that she wasn't doing naked yoga again.

~*~

When Bucky exited the shower and headed downstairs, he found breakfast already prepared for him.

However, instead of something simple like eggs and bacon, there appeared to be a literal cornucopia of food laid out—fruit that was definitely not even close to being in season, but it was big and ripe like it had been freshly picked. There was a pitcher of what seemed to be water, but when Bucky got closer he noticed that it smelled faintly of maple. There were small plates of honey along with the comb, bringing with it the aroma of wildflowers. There were soft-boiled eggs, and loaves of freshly baked bread studded with seeds.

“Holy crap,” Bucky said, choking out the words as he spoke, and Steve shuffled his feet in a motion of something close to shyness his his place at the edge of the table, like the normally aloof man was somehow  _ nervous _ .

“Did...did I not please you?”

The request slipped past Steve's lips with a note of hesitancy to his voice, which made Bucky's stomach shift uneasily. He felt like it was almost  _ wrong _ for Steve to speak to him this way, like he was Bucky's servant. That didn't seem right.

“Uh, no, it's great,” Bucky replied hastily, even as he felt himself begin to blush  _ again, _ and explained, “it's just...a lot. I don't think I can eat everything you brought, or, made, or whatever. Won't it go to waste?”

“My will will keep it fresh,” Steve said simply, and he offered Bucky a shy little smile that made his heart flutter, and caused Bucky wonder if Steve actually had an inkling of what he'd been dreaming about last night. 

Bucky was given little time to ponder this as Steve picked up a plump, ripe peach, and ran his hand over it in a move that almost seemed to be a caress. Bucky's breath hitched, watching with wide eyes as the peach tumbled across Steve's palm in neat slices, and the pit seemed to vanish. 

“Please eat,” Steve said in a low tone, “ I swear to you that it is not cursed.”

The voice was a gentle request, hardly a demand, but Bucky felt almost incapable of refusing Steve. He took a few uncertain steps closer, stopping only when Bucky could feel Steve's body heat and smell that apple pie-morning dew scent of his. 

In turn, Steve lifted one of the peach wedges to Bucky's lips, the skin of it tickling Bucky's bottom lip and smearing it with drops of dew and juice.

Bucky tried not to look directly at Steve as he bit into the fruit, and nearly moaned aloud at the explosion of flavour across his tongue. It was perfectly ripe, sweet without being cloying, and with just enough crisp bite that it did not bear the usual mushy texture of some peaches. 

In sum, Bucky had never tasted anything so _perfect._

Bucky wanted to say something as he chewed and swallowed, but everything that came to mind seemed to pale in comparison to how eerily perfect Steve always appeared to be. In that moment, he felt like a bumbling idiot next to some sort of effervescent god, and he couldn't bear the thought of ruining the moment by saying something stupid. 

Instead, Bucky let Steve feed him. After the peach, Steve offered him spoonfuls of blueberries and cream with honey, small sips of the maple water, and some of the hearty bread, ending with the soft-boiled eggs, the yolk still warm like they'd come directly from the pot. It did feel very much like a meal that a fairy might offer; with so much sweet food and no meat at all, and Bucky was amazed at how truly filling it was. 

As Steve finished feeding him, his fingers began to trace their way along Bucky's bottom lip seemingly in an unconscious sort of way, rather than from any sort of rational compulsion. They tickled the skin similarly to how the peach had felt, but in an infinitely more intimate manner.

In fact, Bucky felt the gentle touch jolt all the way down to his groin, and his breath hitched a little as the previous night's dream along with what happened after suddenly bloomed in his mind.

Without even saying anything, Bucky could tell that Steve had seen it all. Steve's cheeks had coloured a faint pink, and his eyes visibly darkened with want. 

Bucky bit his lip, chewing nervously on the skin as he gazed at Steve and tried to come up with something to say that wouldn't sound completely idiotic. 

Bucky took a small step back. The act made Steve's breath hitch, as though Bucky had verbally rejected him. His arm shot out, seemingly of its own volition, and his fingers curled around Bucky's forearm, coaxing him closer to Steve, instead of farther away.

And then, they were kissing.

Bucky didn't rightly know how that happened. One minute, they were staring and making goo-goo eyes and each other, and the next...their mouths were crushed together, while Steve held onto Bucky so desperately it was like the fairy was afraid that Bucky might suddenly vanish.

“Steve...” Bucky heard himself moan the name, reaching his arms up to wrap around the blond's neck, and Steve responded in kind, groaning as he grabbed at Bucky's hips, and tugged him flush against his broad chest.

_ Wait... _ ** _arms?!_ **

Bucky's eyes flew open, and he pulled back from Steve with a sharp gasp. Sure enough, there was not one, but  _ two  _ arms wrapped securely around Steve's neck.

“I...what...” Bucky gaped, not entirely certain if he should be mad at Steve or not, while Steve, in turn, smiled at him apologetically. 

“My kiss has restorative powers, I didn't exactly have a chance to explain,” Steve said gently, the low timbre of his voice making Bucky shiver and ache. God, how could Steve just  _ talking  _ make him so horny? “I can remove the arm, if that would make you feel better?”

“I...uh...” Bucky stammered again before he flushed with embarrassment. He didn't want to get rid of it, given that being an amputee wasn't nearly as fun as the fundraiser infomercials made it seem, but he  _ knew  _ that his friends would notice if he spontaneously grew a new arm.

“Would you feel better with an Unsheltered Glamour?” Steve asked when Bucky failed to answer. His voice was still soft and throaty, like Steve was having trouble keeping his thoughts on their conversation after that mind-numbing kiss. 

“A what?” Bucky asked, blinking, and Steve chuckled warmly, perhaps having realised too late that Bucky would have no clue what that was. Instead of answering verbally, Steve took Bucky's hand in his, and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

It was clear almost at once that it was more than a simple kiss. Bucky felt a tingle race up and down his arm like someone had given him a minor electric shock, but other than that whatever the magic was was utterly painless. Bucky's breath hitched, and when Steve pulled back he offered Bucky what appeared to be a soft but hopeful smile.

“Unsheltered in my Court means outside of the home,” Steve explained patiently, no longer sounding the least bit impatient at the notion of explaining Fairy Things to Bucky. “An Unsheltered Glamour means that when you are in town, or out in public, it will look like an advanced prosthetic.”

“But...wait...” Bucky stammered, touched by the concern Steve was showing him, but he hadn't yet forgotten everything that Dorothy had explained to him about the nature of the town he lived in. “I was told about the...the anti-fairy stuff around town. Won't that make this glamour-thing not work?”

“Human Magic does not deal in the same sort of exceptions and addendums that Fairy Magic does,” Steve explained simply, but upon seeing Bucky's blank look, Steve added, “since it is Fairy Magic done to a Human, it will not affect you. The Glamour will hold until I take it away.”

“And when will you take it away?” Bucky asked, a sugar-sweet sort of innocence infecting his tone, and he was gifted with the sight of the fairy flushing the faintest pink.

“When you ask me to,” Steve replied simply, “but if you are asking if I  _ plan _ to take it away...the answer is no.”

Bucky bit his lip, somewhat at a loss for what to say. Steve was staring at him with those dark eyes still, making no secret of what he wanted to do with Bucky—or perhaps  _ to  _ Bucky. He wasn't entirely clear on which. 

Bucky flexed the fingers of his new arm, marvelling at how it felt entirely like a regular arm, and not something he'd spontaneously grown in the last five minutes. His arms were still looped around Steve's neck, and as a result the action caused his fingers to tease the hairs at the nape of the fairy's neck, making Steve visibly shiver, and Bucky grinned. Had he possibly found a sensitive spot?

However, his attention upon this new discovery was hampered somewhat when he glanced down, and blinked. Something was peeking out from the sleeve of his T-shirt, like a tattoo on the shoulder of his brand new arm.

Curiosity piqued, Bucky unravelled his arms from Steve's neck in order to roll up the sleeve, and found a huge red star emblazoned upon his shoulder.

“It's my mark,” Steve explained quickly, “I can't...I can't control it, but it can be concealed if you wish.”

“Naw, it's fine,” Bucky replied as he turned his head in order to grin at Steve. “It's like a painless tattoo. It's cool.”

Steve smiled. It was faint, lending to the impression that it was an expression of relief more than anything else. He reached forward, his fingers curling around the hem of Bucky's T-shirt in order to tug him closer, and Bucky's attention was immediately drawn away from the mark on his new arm as he felt his breath still in his lungs.

“I have longed for you since that first day, James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve breathed against Bucky's lips. Bucky did not even bother asking how Steve knew his full name—most likely, he had pulled it straight from Bucky's mind. “May I kiss you?”

“You already did,” Bucky pointed out, his voice just as soft as Steve's, and the fairy chuckled softly.

“You kissed  _ me,”  _ Steve pointed out as he leant closer still and nipped at Bucky's bottom lip gently.  _ “Leapt _ at me would be more accurate, I think.”

Bucky blushed, more due to the fact that he scarcely remembered exactly what had happened, and only that it  _ had.  _ Steve curved a brow, clearly still waiting for a response to his question, but Bucky wasn't certain his his voice was up to working properly.

Instead, Bucky nodded meekly, implying that yes, Steve could  _ definitely  _ kiss him. 

Steve's lips curled into a soft, sweet smile. His fingers trailed up Bucky's front with newfound purpose, leaving a ticklish line of skin in their wake, and making Bucky's breath tumble from his mouth in a shuddering gasp. No one had ever looked at him like that or touched him with such care—not even Steve, at least, up until about five minutes ago. Bucky still didn't fully understand what was happening, not really, but by the same token he wasn't stupid enough to try and stop it so that they could  _ talk it over _ .

Steve's fingers slowed to a stop when he reached Bucky's chin. His fingers should have been sticky from all the food he'd been handling, but they were soft and clean as they curled around Bucky's chin, and gently coaxed the human's gaze upwards. 

Bucky had always viewed himself as a strong man, capable, and independent.

However, in that moment, Bucky felt as weak and helpless as a newborn kitten.

Steve gazed at him with an intensity that Bucky had never known before. Steve's fingers were warm and soft, so unlike the hands of a warrior. When he bowed forward to kiss Bucky, he moved slowly, but elegantly, and without a hint of hesitation. 

Bucky kissed him back eagerly, reaching up once again with both arms, and he wound them around Steve's powerful shoulders. The glamour that Steve had been maintaining fell away, and Bucky felt cool metal under his hands. 

Steve's arms fell to Bucky's waist, and drew him closer until they were pressed chest-to-chest. Each kiss seemed to almost stop Bucky's heart, and he heard, rather than felt, that embarrassing little whimper that escaped past his lips as Steve held him.

“Goddess above, I've wanted this for so long...” Steve breathed in between intoxicating kisses, making Bucky groan as every part of him ached to be closer to Steve. 

“How long?” Bucky murmured, his hands moving to cradle Steve's smooth cheeks, and he smiled up at the big, handsome fairy. 

“Since the first moment I saw you, I wanted to protect you,” Steve replied as he smiled in return. “But then you caught me, and I needed to be closer to you. I couldn't fathom it, how was I to be close to you and not act the part of a fool?”

“So you decided to be a bit of an ass instead?” Bucky filled in with a smirk, and Steve chuckled warmly. 

“Something like that, yes,” Steve agreed as his hands tensed at Bucky's hips. “Then I chose to Dreamwalk last night, and oh...what a scene I happened upon.”

Steve curved a brow at Bucky, and Bucky felt his eyes go wide as his face flushed a deep scarlet.

“Wait, that was  _ you?!”  _ Bucky squeaked, and Steve chuckled in response to Bucky's indignation.

“It hardly seemed as though you minded,” Steve pointed out dryly. “In particular after you woke up.”

“You...you...” Bucky gaped, his face so warm that he could probably fry an egg on it, and all the while Steve continued to smirk at him, wholly unaware that what he had done was anywhere in the realm of  _ not okay. _

“All right, Mr Fairy-Man,” Bucky said firmly, “first things first, we need to have a talk about you spying on me while I'm greasing the pole.” He grabbed Steve's hand, and began to drag him towards the living room. “Come on.”

Without a word of protest (save for a warm laughter that made Bucky feel tingly all over), Steve gripped Bucky's hand tightly in his own, and dutifully followed Bucky out of the dining room. 

First, Bucky was going to give this idiot a lecture on the human concept of  _ boundaries.  _ He might even quiz Steve on it afterwards, just to make sure he'd been listening.

Then, he was going to google how to remove armour. 

And then— _ only then— _ he would break out the lube and condoms, and let Steve pound him into the mattress.

_ Oh, yeah,  _ Bucky thought with a grin as they made it to the living room, just as a pitcher of lemonade materialized on the table.  _ Today's gonna be a real good day. _


	11. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for June 7th. Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven – Magic

“All right, here's the sitch,” Bucky announced as he pushed Steve down onto the sofa, and climbed on top of him promptly, entirely ignoring the magic lemonade on the table. Steve chuckled, and reached out to hold onto Bucky's hips in order to steady him. Steve was smirking, his blue eyes glinting in a mischievous way that gave Bucky the impression that he was going to be in  _ big  _ trouble after this little talk of theirs.

“Here's the sitch,” he repeated, shaking his head once as he tried to focus on something other than how gorgeous Steve was. Steve's smile widened, but he didn't interrupt. “Watching people while they sleep is  _ creepy. _ It's extra creepy when you watch while they're jerking off. If you wanna watch, you gotta ask first. And dreams are  _ private,  _ by the way. You gotta ask...uh...first.”

Bucky blushed when he realized that he was stumbling over his words, while Steve curved a brow at him, his fingers tickling their way along the waistband of Bucky's jeans, which was making it  _ very  _ hard to concentrate. At the very least, Steve did seem to be listening, and he didn't appear to be ignoring Bucky entirely.

“Why is watching you creepy?” Steve asked curiously, his head tilting to the side as he regarded him. “I like watching you; you're beautiful when you sleep. I wanted to keep the nightmares at bay.”

“Nightmares?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded.

“Your nightmares manifest, and you scream in sleep. I didn't like seeing you so distressed; I hoped a pleasant dream would cheer you.”

“Hold on,” Bucky said as he rested his hands against Steve's chestplate. He'd expected the metal to feel cold under his hands, but instead it felt pleasantly warm. “You were trying to  _ stop _ my nightmares?” Steve nodded. “By kissing dream-me?” Again, another nod. “Then why didn't you  _ say so? _ ”

“I wanted to kiss you regardless,” Steve replied with a shameless sort of shrug while he reached out to touch Bucky's cheek, making him shiver. “I did not want you to think that I did it for a practical reason, and not just for the pleasure of it.”

“So you're telling me you had a crush on me, wanted to protect my brain from my horrible memories, and instead of saying anything ahead of time you just waited until the most ample opportunity to kiss me, which satisfied both your goal of keeping away my nightmares and your crush on me,” Bucky rattled off, which caused Steve to nod again, though he didn't look in the least bit embarrassed by any of it. “And  _ how _ does watching me jerk off factor into all this?”

Steve's neck turned a blotchy red, and Bucky smirked a little. That answered  _ that  _ question.

“Exactly,” Bucky filled in as he moved to kiss Steve again, loving the  _ zing  _ of pleasure that seemed to course through him every time he touched the man. “So, in future, if you wanna invade my dreams or watch me jerk off,  _ ask first _ .”

“I think that can be arranged,” Steve mused as he stealthily slid a hand under Bucky's T-shirt, causing Bucky shiver as Steve began to idly trace the shape of his abdominal muscles. “Now, can we possibly move on to something more  _ pleasurable? _ ”

“I have just one more question,” Bucky interjected, and grinned when Steve's lips pursed, like he was a step away from groaning out loud at the delay. “You said you kiss has restorative powers, right?”

“Yes, what about it?” Steve asked, curving a brow at him. “If it helps, kissing me  _ more  _ won't cause you to grow extra limbs.”

“No, that's not what I meant,” Bucky interjected with a laugh, even as he pictured himself with eight arms, like some sort of crazy human spider. “I mean...does anything  _ else _ have special powers...like if I suck you off, or let you fuck me, does your cum do anything weird? Like can I get...I dunno, Fairy Herpes or something?”

“Erm...I...I don't think so?” Steve replied, sounding both alarmed and a little bit confused. “I've never been with a human before, so I cannot say for certain if my essence would harm you.”

“I'm not gonna get pregnant, am I?” Bucky teased, and Steve chuckled warmly.

“Somehow I doubt it.”

“Well, just to be safe, if I'm bottoming, you're using a condom,” Bucky said as he pictured the notion of condom use clearly in his mind, and Steve's face scrunched up in visible dislike, making it clear that he'd gotten the message. 

“And that will keep you safe?” Steve asked curiously, cocking his head to the side, and Bucky nodded.

“Humans use them to keep from getting pregnant if you're straight, and to guard against serious diseases if you're queer. Well...I  _ guess  _ straight people use them for the disease thing too, but I think accidentally making a tiny human is the bigger issue...”

Bucky was babbling.

He  _ knew  _ that he was babbling, but Steve just sat there and listened like it was completely normal and not annoying. His fingers had dropped down lower to tease along the seams of Bucky's jeans, then they inched under his T-shirt again, and yet  _ still _ Bucky couldn't make his stupid horny brain  _ shut the fuck up  _ so that they could move on to the main event. 

Eventually, Steve seemed to understand that it was Bucky's nerves making him gibber on about which STIs were which, and that time overseas when that  _ really hot British guy  _ gave him gonorrhoea, and the embarrassing trip to the med tent where the MP gave him almighty hell for fucking around ( _ literally _ ) when he should have been on duty.

It was a pretty good story, and Bucky may have told it better if he hadn't been so clouded by nervousness at the idea of letting Steve fuck him, but Steve remedied that by tugging Bucky closer and kissing him hard on the mouth. 

Bucky didn't really remember getting to his bedroom. One minute they were kissing on the sofa, the next they were on his bed. He hadn't been aware that Steve could teleport, but he wasn't about to ask that  _ now _ when he still needed to get all Steve's stupid armour  _ off _ .

Bucky blushed as he reluctantly broke the kiss and pulled his phone out. It wasn't very sexy, but he didn't want Steve to magic his way out of his clothes when Bucky  _ really _ wanted to take his sweet time with this.

**Google: How to take off armour**

“ _ Forty-five minutes?! _ ” Bucky squawked, his eyes bulging in his head, even as Steve began to laugh.

“I can make it easier on us both,” Steve purred into Bucky's ear while he reached out to touch Bucky's hip, but he shook his head fervently. 

“No, don't you dare,” Bucky interrupted sternly. “This has to be  _ savoured. _ ”

“All right,” Steve replied, moving in to peck Bucky's lips with a gentle kiss, “but let me know when you change your mind.”

Perhaps it was Steve's snotty phrasing that did it, but Bucky decided right then that he was  _ not  _ going to let Steve magic his way out of his clothes. While consulting WikiHow, he began by unbuckling Steve's arm plating, then unbuckling the shoulder pauldrons. He slid the arm plating off and set it aside. It felt thick, but it was oddly light, though Bucky vowed to ask about it later— _ much _ later after they were both thoroughly satisfied.

Steve lifted his arms for Bucky without him having to ask, and Bucky unbuckled the underarm straps for the pauldrons before pulling them off and adding it to the pile of discarded armour. 

Bucky made Steve stand up, and consulted his phone again as he got on his knees, and bit his lip as he shot Steve with a coy sort of smile while his hands moved under the skirt piece of the armour (though, in Bucky's opinion it didn't look anything like an actual skirt) and fumbled with the thigh buckles, realizing perhaps too late that there was no way to be sexy while wrestling with so many  _ fucking straps,  _ before he moved on to the calf and jointed knee pieces, which he just barely managed to keep from throwing into the pile of discarded armour in frustration as he began to perspire a little from all the damn effort it was taking just to get Steve undressed.

He undid the leg bindings that were affixed to the chest plating, then straightened up in order to carefully lifted the chest piece up over Steve's head. Though the WikiHow said it was a two-man job, he found it almost comically light, and could get it off without any problems.

Underneath the chest piece was a shirt of mail, but it was unlike any mail Bucky had ever seen. It was shiny and iridescent like the inside of a clam shell, seeming to shift from pearl white to pink to blue and back again, in so many colours that Bucky couldn't follow them all. For a moment he could do little more than stare at the mail, until Steve caught his chin in his hand, and moved in to kiss him gently. 

Bucky shivered a little, both loving and hating how vulnerable Steve always made him feel, but the soft clinking of Steve's chain mail reminded him that he still had a job to finish, and he'd be  _ damned  _ if Steve was gonna distract him halfway through. 

The final piece was the skirt, which he unbuckled with a somewhat maniacal laugh, and tossed it aside a little more roughly than he'd meant to. Steve smiled, seemingly not too upset at Bucky's rough handling of his armour, and simply gathered Bucky into his arms again for another kiss.

Disrobing of Steve's chain mail, padding, and undershirt was a lot easier and felt much more natural to Bucky. At the very least, he no longer had to ask the internet how to disrobe his magical boyfriend (was Steve his boyfriend? Bucky wasn't actually sure) and though Bucky expected Steve's skin to be all hot and sweaty under those ten thousand layers, all he was was  _ gorgeous _ . 

Steve's skin was fair, but not overly pale. A sweet sort of peachy colour, with golden chest hair so fine that it seemed almost invisible against his rock-hard muscles. His broad chest tapered down to a trim waist, and a fine trail of blond hairs disappeared into the top of his black leggings. 

Not to be outdone, Steve smirked at Bucky coyly as he ran his fingers up Bucky's chest, tickling him, and when Bucky glanced down again, he saw his T-shirt on the floor, and his chest was bare. 

“Oh, that's a very neat trick,” Bucky breathed, grinning a little as he looked down at himself, then up at Steve. 

There was a stark difference in their builds, Steve looking quite literally like he could bench press a truck, while Bucky looked like he might have trouble lifting a box of Costco cat litter on his own. Really, Bucky knew that it was his own fault for letting his exercise regimen fall to the wayside after he left the military, and now he was skinny with very lean sort of muscle definition, though his height certainly helped him feel slightly less self-conscious about it.

Even so, Bucky couldn't help but cross his arms across his chest as he felt himself blush slightly. Steve reached out immediately and touched Bucky's wrists, though he didn't force Bucky's arms away as he murmured, “Bucky, you are beautiful to me; you don't need to hide.”

Bucky hated how that simple statement made him want to cry. He didn't even know  _ why  _ it made him want to cry. How long had it been since someone had told him that and  _ meant _ it? 

_ I think there's more going on here than just a quick fuck _ , Bucky thought before he remembered that Steve would be able to hear him, but the fairy didn't seem offended by that statement and instead offered Bucky another sweet smile. 

Steve moved closer, and kissed Bucky tenderly. It was so sweet and gentle that it nearly made Bucky's knees buckle, and one of Steve's strong arms moved away from his front and to Bucky's back, holding him securely. 

Bucky moaned into Steve's mouth, and Steve chuckled warmly as he guided Bucky back to the bed, the pair of them sitting down blindly, not too keen to break the kiss in order to see what they were doing. 

“I would like to make love to you, Bucky,” Steve whispered in between kisses, while the arm at his back trailed up Bucky's spine, and tapped his hair elastic, making his disappear, and his hair fell against his shoulders in a wave, almost like in the movies. “Would that be all right with you?”   


“I'd be pretty pissed if I spent almost an hour taking your armour off just for us to stop now,” Bucky joked, and Steve chuckled warmly but didn't say anything, as though he was waiting for Bucky to answer properly. Something about that made Bucky feel more than a little giddy, and he smiled broadly as he said, “yes, Steve. I'd  _ love _ it if we made love.”

Bucky's consent seemed to be what Steve was waiting for, and he smiled again as he moved in to kiss the human once more. 

With shaking hands, Bucky reached for Steve's leggings just as Steve reached for the catch on Bucky's jeans, tangling themselves together a little, and bringing a laugh out of each of them. Steve conceded easily, standing back up in order to allow Bucky to peel away the thin material. Bucky was fairly certain that there was a more fancy term for the garment than just  _ leggings _ , but that what they looked like to him. Or, perhaps a glorified condom, given how Steve's very distinctive erection was straining against the tight garment.

Bucky licked his lips unconsciously as he grabbed the waistband and began to tug the leggings down, Steve's magnificent cock popping free in the process, and Bucky immediately felt his mouth begin to water.

It was the kind of cock one might see in porn, but never in real life—it was  _ huge _ . Thick and heavy, with a pearl of precum on its tip (the precum had an odd iridescent quality to it that unsettled Bucky just a little, though he wasn't about to admit it) and long, but not  _ too  _ long. 

In essence, it was the perfect cock for such a stupidly perfect man.

Bucky was about to reach out and touch the organ, curious to see if it was actually as heavy as it looked, when he suddenly remembered that he'd only peeled off the leggings enough to free Steve's cock before he'd completely stopped only to stare gormlessly at the organ instead of actually getting Steve all the way out of his clothes.

Blushing, Bucky hastily peeled the leggings off the rest of the way, leaving Steve fully naked upon his bed.

Steve smiled, the expression almost catlike and mischievous as he slid across the bed to touch the catch on Bucky's jeans, vanishing the garment from his body, and it fell into the pile of clothing next to the bed. Steve's brow pinched when he saw Bucky's underwear, almost like he didn't know what they were, but didn't remark on it as he touched the elastic waistband of the briefs, and they too vanished.

Bucky felt himself blush as his own body was fully exposed to the air. He was definitely not as big as Steve, but neither was he small. He hadn't anticipated having sex today, and as a result he wasn't as  _ groomed _ as Steve was either—where Steve's pubic hair was all neat and trimmed like manscaping was his job, Bucky's was a wiry, bushy mess. If he was being honest with himself, he was more embarrassed about that than anything else. 

_ At least I showered today _ , Bucky thought as Steve drew Bucky close and kissed him again, erasing Bucky's slew of worries in one fell swoop.

“Gods above and below,” Steve breathed in between kisses, “Bucky, you are so beautiful...”

Bucky blushed again, not certain what he could say to that, but Steve didn't seem to be looking for any kind of response as he kissed his human again, his big hands trailing over Bucky's body with reverence. His kisses moved from Bucky's mouth to his neck, along his shoulder, before they stopped at the star-shaped mark upon Bucky's shoulder, his tongue trailing over the outline with the same sort of adoration that he'd conducted himself with so far that morning, it making Bucky moan with growing need.

“I want you, Bucky,” Steve murmured as he straightened up, and moved to taste Bucky's lips again. “I want  _ all  _ of you, if you'll let me.”

“What does that mean in fairy talk?” Bucky breathed, his head feeling foggy, but a good sort of foggy that came with that sort of blinding arousal. Steve had coaxed him into the centre of the bed at some point, though Bucky couldn't clearly remember it all, and the man was leaning over him while Bucky lay splayed across the rumpled comforter like a feast laid out just for Steve to taste.

“It means that I care for you, and wish to make love to you,” Steve clarified in between kisses. “I have no ill intent, and I'm not trying to entrap you.”

“Oh, then you can have me, Steve,” Bucky replied, smiling faintly as he reached up to touch Steve's smooth cheek. “I don't understand a lot of this fairy stuff, so you'll have to be patient with me.”

“And I don't want to trick you with any of it either, Bucky,” Steve replied, turning his head so that he could kiss Bucky's palm. “I swear to you, my intentions with you—with  _ us— _ are pure.”

“I trust you, Steve,” Bucky said, and smiled when he saw how that declaration seemed to light up every part of Steve's expression. 

Steve gently coaxed Bucky down onto his back more fully, and like he knew the entire layout of Bucky's home, he reached for the right-hand bedside table, extracting both the tube of lube and a condom from the top drawer. 

“I saw them in your mind, remember?” Steve replied in response to Bucky's curious expression, and Bucky chuckled a bit as he watched Steve fumble for a moment with the cap of the lubricant, almost like he didn't know how to use it, or was nervous; Bucky couldn't decide which. Either way, Bucky liked seeing Steve less than sure of himself; it brought Steve down a few notches, and made him feel less perfect, and less untouchable.

Steve kissed Bucky again, the contact startling Bucky a little, and effectively distracting him from his thoughts. 

Bucky moaned in a beseeching sort of way, his legs parting in silent invitation, and Steve's lube-slick fingers slipped under Bucky, probing experimentally at his entrance. 

“Steve, please, I-I'm not made of  _ glass _ ...” Bucky choked out between gasps for breaths, his legs parting farther as he begged, and Steve shuddered, as though something in Bucky's begging was startling to him, but not necessarily upsetting. 

Bucky logged it away to re-examine at a later time, just when Steve's index finger pushed at his guardian muscles at last, breaching him, and Bucky let out a groan of triumph.

Steve's fingers were thick, but gentle, moving carefully inside his human despite Bucky's continued protests that he could be a little rougher than that. 

When Steve moved to add a second finger, his limbs seemed to be trembling slightly, like a tightly coiled spring that was just barely being held back. Bucky wanted to cry in frustration, given that Steve was still being  _ too gentle  _ and  _ too slow _ , but he had no idea how to convince Steve of that, and projecting his thoughts of his time with ex-boyfriends seemed like a bit of a faux-pas. 

Once Steve deigned him sufficiently prepared, Bucky let out a soft whine as Steve's fingers left him, which earned him a warm chuckle in response. 

“Just be patient, my Bucky,” Steve purred, and Bucky felt himself flush with warm pleasure and affection at the term of endearment.

_ My Bucky. _

Bucky watched, unmoving, as Steve carefully unwrapped the condom by hand and rolled it into place. He then slicked his cock up with plenty of lube (almost on the side of too much, if Bucky was being honest with himself), before he took Bucky's hips in his hands, and slid Bucky into position. 

Bucky's heart raced with excitement as he lifted his legs and hooked them around Steve's waist. Steve smiled as he positioned himself at Bucky's entrance, the blunted tip pressing against him for a long, agonizing moment before Steve  _ finally _ pressed forward and breached his entrance. 

Bucky's legs tightened around Steve's waist as he let out an appreciative groan, causing the man to chuckle warmly as he edged forward, seemingly trying to keep from hurting Bucky. 

Though Bucky didn't think it was really necessary, he still appreciated Steve's care. He was perspiring a little as he inched into Bucky, but in the mid-morning light it looked more like starlight clinging to his skin. 

“Oh,  _ Bucky... _ ” Steve groaned, bowing forward slightly, just enough to get a firmer grip on Bucky's hips, and drawing another moan past Bucky's hips.

Thankfully, Steve seemed to finally get the message that he didn't need to be as gentle with his human as he thought. He began to move a little more quickly, his hips jutting forward, and Bucky did the rest of the work, pulling Steve forward with his legs until he was sheathed fully inside of the human. 

Steve whispered something under his breath that sounded like a curse, but Bucky wasn't sure. Steve drew his hips back, then snapped them forward again, harder this time, and Bucky let out a loud groan of pleasure.

“ _ Fuck _ , Steve,” Bucky choked out as he rolled his hips, meeting the thrust enthusiastically, “do that  _ again _ .”

Steve obeyed, pistoning his hips, his fingers digging into Bucky's hips so hard they were certain to leave bruises, and Bucky's body came alive. He moved with Steve, clenching every time Steve ploughed deeply into him, and on those rare moments when they moved  _ just right _ , Steve's cock hit Bucky's prostate like he'd grabbed hold of live wire, and he  _ screamed _ .

Bucky lost all sense of time as Steve pounded into him, ensuring that he'd probably never be able to close his ass properly ever again. When Steve came first, he swore again, but Bucky could feel why.

The condom had broken.

Bucky was too lost in his pleasure to try and stop. Maybe it was stupid, but he was just  _ so close,  _ and he figured he could panic  _ after. _

Steve whimpered, as though Bucky's continued movement was playing havoc on his senses, but the fairy thankfully had enough blood left in his brain to reach down, his hand coiling around Bucky's aching cock in a delicious vice, and began to pump him towards orgasm.

Bucky came with a cry, his cum spattering over his abdomen, and one dot making it as high as his chest. He slumped back against the comforter, gasping for breath, while with a gentle wave of Steve's hand his mess magically vanished, and he finally pulled his limp cock out of Bucky. 

Bucky glanced down curiously, and saw that the condom hadn't just broken, but it looked more like it had been blasted in half by a short-range missile. Steve blushed, but clearly if they were going to use protection again, they needed something a little bit stronger.

For the moment however, Bucky was too blissed out to really think about it. Steve waved his hand again, vanishing his own mess, then lay down next to Bucky, crossing one arm across his waist, and Bucky folded himself eagerly into the fairy's arms.

“I forgot to ask...” Bucky mumbled as he pillowed his cheek against Steve's chest. Even exhausted and sweaty, Steve smelled like apples and a fresh spring morning. “Um, you said you were going to find a solution to the wish-thing?”

“I went to Otherworld for answers,” Steve replied as he pulled Bucky closer. “I spoke to one of the elders, and they said servitude would be an amenable substitution to the wish. When I asked how long such servitude would be required, they said that I would know when my debt had been repaid.”

“So that's why you've been cleaning my house and feeding me and fucking me,” Bucky filled in, feeling his stomach flip a little at the statement. Had Steve only fucked him because he was trying to  _ serve him? _

“Only the cleaning and feeding parts,” Steve said at once, his arms tensing around Bucky again. “Making love to you was a privilege I hadn't expected to be granted, and I do not see it as an aspect of my servitude. I've loved you since I first saw you, Bucky, and I would never sully our coupling like that.”

“Oh, okay,” Bucky replied, relaxing a little as he breathed deep, and tried to commit Steve's scent to memory. “But...does that mean when you've finished  _ serving  _ me that you'll have to leave?”

“I will be expected to return to my regular duties at that time, but I won't leave and never come back,” Steve replied as he pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky's hair. “I'll be here as long as you want me.”

Bucky wanted to say  _ forever _ , but he knew that it was too soon for that.

Instead, he closed his eyes and dozed, hoping that Steve's sentiment was true, and that he hadn't made love to him out of some sort of misguided obligation. Bucky  _ wanted  _ it to be true. He wanted Steve to be here because he wanted to be, and not because he  _ had  _ to be.

Bucky knew that his hopes and dreams were all too much, too soon. 

Instead of speaking, Bucky stayed quiet. Steve held him, as securely as an anchor holds a boat, until, at last, Bucky dropped back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please note that despite Bucky's Mpreg jokes, there will be no actual Mpreg in this story. That's something that would definitely have been tagged ahead of time.
> 
> And for anyone who doesn't shop at Costco, their cat litter is like fifty pounds and heavy as hell XD


	12. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for June 21st. I finally got that dental surgery I talked about a few updates ago, so this was written/edited while on a considerable amount of painkillers. Any mistakes I blame entirely on the drugs.

Chapter Twelve – Connected

Bucky woke again around noon, and when he meandered downstairs there was already a spread of lunch fare on the table for him, appearing magically like he was at Hogwarts or something. 

He still felt a little sticky from their morning romp, but Bucky couldn't quite bring himself to clean up, and instead helped himself to salad and a chicken sandwich in nothing but his boxers, pairing it with some sort of crisp-tasting lemon water. He sat on the armchair by the back window, and gazed out into the woods while he ate.

Outside, the leaves were finally starting to turn, and the sun over the orange and red treetops made it look like the forest was on fire. The forest floor was lightly blanketed in leaves, with bits of green grass intermingling with the other colours. It wasn't cold enough yet to scare away all the animals, and Bucky smiled as he watched a finch dart past his window, and two squirrels chased each other up and down the thick trees, chittering at each other constantly as they went.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky found himself truly grateful that his sister had elected this place for him to recuperate from the horrors of war. How could he feel sad when he had Steve, and his new friends, and this beautiful place to make his art?

But mostly, Bucky was grateful for Steve. 

Bucky smiled at that; he'd kind of hated Steve when he first met him, and now he couldn't imagine his life without him. 

Bucky took a big bite of his sandwich just as Steve headed downstairs in Bucky's clothes, his red shirt stretching almost comically over Steve's muscles, and his tight jeans made Steve's bulge pretty  _ distinctive _ . In fact, Bucky found it almost impossible to keep his eyes fixed on Steve's face. 

“These are comfortable,” Steve announced, and when Bucky looked up, he saw that Steve was smirking at him coyly, like he knew that Bucky wasn't really thinking about clothes at the moment. “I can see why you like to wear them.”

“I think I like you better out of them,” Bucky blurted out, though he felt a little better when Steve laughed warmly in response. He did seem to consider Bucky's words for a moment before he shook his head with a chuckle and sat down on the edge of the armchair in order to press a kiss to the corner of Bucky's mouth. 

“Eat first,” Steve advised with a sultry purr. “Then after that we can do all the filthy things I see inside your mind.”

Bucky grinned, and dug into his lunch.

~*~

Even though Steve had mentioned something about  _ serving _ Bucky, he never actually saw the fairy do anything, and yet his house was suddenly almost surgically clean. It made Bucky wonder if Steve did it at night, like those shoe-makers in that old fairy tale, but he wasn't sure if it was polite to ask. Plus, he had much more fun plans for his mouth that didn't involve asking a million questions of his new boyfriend.

As soon as Bucky finished eating, Steve magicked away the plate like he knew what Bucky was thinking, and eased back against the couch with a smirk on his face.

Bucky grinned as he got up off the armchair and almost ran over to Steve before he promptly dropped to his knees. 

Steve inhaled sharply as he watched, his eyes dark with lust, and Bucky felt him shiver with anticipation as his hands fell to the zipper on Steve's jeans, and he began to unfasten them.

“So,” Bucky said coyly as his hand slid inside Steve's jeans, and he extracted the fairy's half-hard cock. “How safe is it for you to cum down my throat? Don't think I've forgotten about the condom incident—I kind of don't want your jizz to blast a hole in my stomach or something.”

“I—I don't think so?” Steve replied uncertainly, breathing a little harder than normal as Bucky began to idly stroke him. “The incident with the condom...that's never happened before. My essence isn't dangerous; it shouldn't hurt you.”

“That's true, after you destroyed the condom, my ass didn't melt,” Bucky mused out loud as he continued to stroke Steve, and the fairy laughed weakly. 

Steve appeared as though he wanted to say something, but couldn't quite find the right words. Bucky assumed part of that inability to find his train of thought was thanks to Bucky's expert ministrations upon his cock, which definitely boosted his ego a little. Determined to see if he could turn the stoic fairy into even more of a gibbering mess, Bucky bowed forward, and closed his mouth over the beautiful blond's cock.

Bucky's first thought was that Steve didn't taste like any man he'd ever been with before—not even any  _ woman _ he'd been with before.  _ Those  _ had been few and far between, back when he'd believed that he was bisexual instead of a complete and total Kinsey Six. 

_ He tastes like apple blossoms _ , Bucky thought as he laved his tongue over Steve's tip, which was slick with precum. There was no salty, bitter tang to his  _ essence _ , as Steve always called it; it was floral, like Bucky had stepped into an orchard during the spring. It was both incredibly odd and enticing all at once, though he'd be lying if he didn't admit that he missed that masculine musk, if only a little.

Bucky slid Steve deeper into his mouth, working his jaw around the fairy's impressive girth. Steve grunted, his hips twitching a little, and his blunted head bumped the back of Bucky's throat, making him gag a little. 

Bucky opened his mouth wider, but unfortunately his gag reflex was stronger than he was, and he could only manage swallowing Steve for a few moments before he had to pull back, and despite his desire to swallow all of him, he knew he'd need a little more practice. He'd never been with someone who had such a big cock before, and it was oddly thrilling to be with someone so... _ huge _ .

To accommodate for his physical limits, Bucky thrust his hand over what he couldn't fit into his mouth, working his tongue feverishly in a  _ need  _ to get Steve off. Above him, his fairy was panting and whining, shuddering in place as he fought to hold back his orgasm, but Bucky's abilities seemed to be too much for him, and he came with a cry.

The overwhelming aroma of  _ apples _ consumed Bucky again as he swallowed every drop, and he shivered all over with delight as he looked up at his spent fairy, debauched and panting upon the couch. His hair had fallen into his eyes a little, and he was gazing at Bucky with a look not unlike disbelief, or perhaps some sort of awe.

“You were amazing, Bucky,” Steve breathed as Bucky crawled back onto the couch with a Cheshire cat grin, and moved closer in order to press a kiss to Steve's lips. “I've never been with someone so...eager.”

“There's so much more to come, baby,” Bucky purred in between kisses, and Steve chuckled a bit as he reached out in order to tease Bucky's hair, which had partially fallen out of its messy morning bun. 

“Maybe after I have regained some of my strength, you can show me,” Steve purred, the teasing note in his voice making Bucky blush.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, his blush getting worse when his voice escaped him with a slight tremor, “you really want me to show you?”

“I want to experience  _ everything  _ with you, my Bucky,” Steve replied without missing a beat, the earnestness of his voice making Bucky's heart beat faster.

_ How can he say stuff like that and act like it's no big deal? _ Bucky wondered as he reached out to touch Steve's cheek.  _ How can he be so at ease all the time, while I always feel like the rug's been yanked out from under me? _

“I find it so easy to love you, my Bucky,” Steve purred in response, clearly having heard Bucky's thoughts, and the human blushed again, forgetting for the hundredth time that Steve would be able to hear him. 

The oddest part, at least for Bucky, was how the notion of Steve loving him didn't come across as some sort of shock. Yeah, they hadn't known each other for very long, but hearing Steve say it felt strangely  _ right _ . 

Bucky was a little afraid of over-analysing it, and instead just smiled as he moved in to steal another kiss from his fairy. 

~*~

Unfortunately, despite Bucky's promise to fuck Steve all day, he had to go into town for—of all things—toothpaste. 

Normally, Bucky may not have gone out and would have just asked Steve to make some with his magic, but the perplexed look on Steve's face over what toothpaste  _ was _ gave Bucky the impression that he probably shouldn't risk it, and decided to head out on his own to pick some up. At the very least, Steve's own teeth and breath were as pristine as the rest of him, so maybe he had some sort of fairy equivalent that Bucky didn't know about, which was a relief. He wasn't about to kiss anyone with chronic halitosis, regardless how hot they were.

Bucky scratched at his arm absently as he crossed into town, wishing he'd thought to bring something warmer than just a hoodie, but it at least covered his metal-looking arm and saved him from the curious glances of the town's residents as he went about his business. Piles of leaves were collected in bunches along the sidewalks, and a few more industrious businesses were already decorating for Halloween, despite the fact that it was barely the middle of September. Even the ice cream shop had all sorts of signs in the windows for their pumpkin spice ice cream and pumpkin cheesecake parfait, making it clear that they had no plans to close for the winter. 

Bucky stopped in at the pharmacy and picked up the needed toothpaste, and on his way out he heard someone shout his name, making him jolt to a stop. When he turned around, he smirked when he saw Darcy rushing towards him. 

“Now  _ that  _ is an  _ I just got railed  _ face if I ever saw one,” she announced—loudly—when she skidded to a stop in front of him, and Bucky burst out laughing. When he calmed down, she added, “nice new prosthetic, by the way. It looks cool. Where'd you get it?”

“If you wanna walk with me to get ice cream, I'll tell you everything,” Bucky offered, and Darcy grinned.

With a double-scoop each in hand, Bucky and Darcy meandered down towards the centre of town, which bore a simple square of a duck pond covered in leaves and a few benches. Given that it was so cold that day it was completely deserted, which made it a perfect place for Bucky to fill Darcy in on everything that had happened, much to her delight.

“So, let me get this straight,” Darcy said before she took a big bite of her cotton candy ice cream. “After our talk with my Gam Gam, you went back to your house and the next morning this fairy guy saw you in bed, and then he fed you some kind of fancy breakfast— _ literally _ hand fed you—and then you two made out, you grew a new fucking arm which only  _ looks _ like a prosthetic when you're in public, and then you fucked, and then he told you that being your manservant would fix this wish issue, then you had lunch, then you blew him on the couch, and his cum tastes like candy. Is that everything?”

“His cum tastes like flowers, not candy,” Bucky corrected as he took a lick of his chocolate-caramel ice cream. “But yeah, that's everything.”

“Huh.”

“Good huh or bad huh?”

“Honestly, I'm not sure,” Darcy admitted with a wry smile. “I mean, I bet he's gorgeous, but it kind of sucks that you can't take him on dates in town, or that we can't meet him. That's a big part of being in a relationship, isn't it?”

“Yeah it is,” Bucky agreed with a wince as he nibbled on the edge of his waffle cone. “You think it's unhealthy that we're sort of...cut off?”

“You might want to ask your shrink that instead of me,” Darcy replied dryly before she took another big bite of her brightly coloured ice cream. “I'm not gonna lie, I'm kind of worried about that part of it, but if he's treating you properly then I don't have any complaints—it's not like you're bailing right now to go see him.”

“Except I  _ did  _ promise that I'd be right back,” Bucky admitted with a snicker, and Darcy threw her head back as she laughed. 

~*~

Darcy's words rang in Bucky's head all the way home, long after they'd finished their ice cream and parted ways. It was true that he needed to ensure to not cut himself off with just Steve for company, and dating a fairy that only he could see definitely complicated matters. He'd love to introduce Steve to his friends (and maybe even his sister) but how could he when no one else could see him?

Bucky bit his lip as he stepped back inside, and Steve immediately appeared in front of him wearing only his jeans, which would have been attractive, had his hands not been covered in cheeto dust. 

“Forget to wash your hands, baby?” Bucky teased, arching his brow, and Steve frowned at him.

“Your human food was delicious, and I forgot myself. Now it won't come off,” he complained. “I tried to banish it, but it won't work.”

“Cheeto dust is like that. You gotta wash your hands for real, not magic it away,” Bucky explained while he did his best not to laugh, though privately he assumed that Steve  _ forgetting himself _ meant he had what Bucky called a  _ snackccident _ , and ate the whole bag without noticing.

Bucky led his fairy to the kitchen, pointing out the hand soap and which faucet handle was which before he disappeared upstairs to put away his new toothpaste, and when he got back Steve's hands were back to their uniform shade, and dinner was awaiting them on the dining room table. 

This time, Steve seemed to have toned down his cornucopia of food, and upon the table was a simple tureen of stew, fresh bread, and a bottle of wine.

The wine was red, which Bucky tended to prefer, and the label was in a language Bucky couldn't read. Bucky had expected it to look like elvish letters like in  _ Lord of the Rings _ , but instead the letters were series of strange arrows, less like letters, and more like instructions for an interpretive dance.

“This is Fairy-Raised Wine,” Steve explained as he sat down across from Bucky, and used more magic to serve everything up. The stew was thick and had the colouring of your average beef stew, but when Bucky tasted it, he found it to be a wild mushroom stew flavoured with red wine, rosemary, and fennel. It was  _ delicious. _ “The Fairy Court to the south brews it for their humans.”

“ _ Their  _ humans?” Bucky asked curiously in between bites, and Steve nodded. 

“Many fairies work in tandem with humans, helping each other. Humans provide offerings, and we gift them with abundant crops or delectable wines, or what have you.” Steve paused, his expression thoughtful, before he added, “sometimes those relationships sour, and humans no longer want anything to do with us.”

“Like with the village here?” Bucky ventured, and Steve nodded. 

“The humans I was tasked to guard did not take kindly to us,” Steve said simply, and Bucky grimaced. Something in Steve's tone gave Bucky the impression that it might be better not to ask, especially when he knew most of the story thanks to Dorothy. Despite this, some of his curiosity must have shown on his face, and Steve added, “we take human children from abused homes, and raise them in Otherworld. Other courts are less selective with the taking of children, but our royal pair always felt it important to save children who could not save themselves.”

Steve paused, and swallowed thickly. It was the first time Bucky could recall seeing such a genuine display of emotion from the man, and Bucky reached out to touch the fairy's hand. He smiled faintly, seemingly understanding the gesture, and Steve laced their fingers together.

“It did not end well,” he continued. “We had to return the children before the humans got it into their heads that they could wage war against us, but one mother was so unwell that she refused to believe that her child was truly  _ hers _ , and committed an atrocious act as a result. We could not cross the fire to save her or the boy.”

Steve hung his head, and Bucky squeezed his hand tightly. He couldn't imagine how hard it must have been to watch a mother and son burn to death, especially ones in a village he'd been tasked to protect. Bucky still had a lot of questions, but now didn't seem to be the right time to ask them, and he kept quiet. 

Silently, they returned to their meal, though Bucky never let go of the fairy's hand.

~*~

They ate in relative silence, their hands still intertwined, and Steve rounded off the meal with a sweet, flaky pastry filled with some kind of maple-flavoured caramel. Bucky ate it, even though Steve's tale had caused him to utterly lose his appetite, he wanted to show his gratitude for everything that Steve was doing for him, and as a result he forced himself to eat every bite.

Once they'd finished, Bucky guided Steve over to the couch, nestling into the fairy's arms while he switched on the TV, which Steve seemed to find utterly fascinating. Personally, when Bucky felt sad he liked to watch True Crime documentaries, but he had a feeling that Steve wasn't really like that, and instead opted for a nature show about jungles at night, which showed hunting jaguars and ocelots, aye-ayes digging into trees for bugs, and bats feeding out of flowers from towering Baobab trees.

The soothing voice of the narrator and the imagery seemed to calm Steve, though he still seemed to carry a sad sort of smile as he held Bucky close, his eyes never leaving the screen.


	13. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for July 5th. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen – Consequences

Bucky swore as Steve pounded into him, the force of it making his ass skid over the granite kitchen countertop ever so slightly, ensuring that there would be a red mark left behind on his skin when they'd finished. Bucky didn't care; it'd be a nice reminder that they'd christened yet another part of his house with their enthusiastic lovemaking.

It had been a  _ very  _ good month for Steve and Bucky. In fact, Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd had such an overall  _ good  _ month. He was having more sex than he'd had in his  _ life _ , and after finding no solution to Steve's caustic cum when it came to condoms, they forewent them in favour of barebacking, but only after Bucky explained the importance of not sleeping around if they were to do that, which Steve seemed to find perplexing, especially after making it clear that Bucky was the only one that Steve wanted to sleep with. 

Around them, the days grew shorter, and the nights longer and colder. Ice cream and soft drinks were exchanged for cups of tea and warm, freshly-baked cookies. In the spirit of the impending season, Bucky bought dozens of tacky Halloween decorations along with pumpkin-scented and pumpkin-flavoured items at the grocery store. 

Darcy had cautioned him (multiple times, over many different kinds of drinks) that no kids were likely to come to his house, especially when so many of the townsfolk avoided the woods, but Bucky didn't care. He'd rather eat all the candy himself anyway.

Steve seemed to know all about Halloween, which surprised Bucky when he didn't need to explain it to the fairy. The holiday didn't really spark the images of fairies to him, but all the same, Steve brushed off Bucky's attempted explanations, before he informed Bucky that he would be busy that night, though he'd been more than a little cagey on what exactly he'd be doing. Bucky got the impression that he wasn't trying to hide it from Bucky, at least, not in the strictest sense, and it seemed more like he didn't think that he could explain it in a way that Bucky would understand. 

Bucky didn't know how he felt about that; a little hurt maybe, but also a little understanding—there was so much about Steve's world that he admittedly didn't get, and Bucky could imagine that explaining so many things over and over would get exhausting. He understood that, especially when he met a straight person who'd never seen a gay guy in the wild before, or when someone found out he was a vet, and they decided he needed to be their personal educator on the subject.

As a result, Bucky pushed all his feelings on the matter to the wayside, and focused solely on the physical aspect of their growing relationship. 

Which was easy to do when Steve could be so  _ deliciously _ physical.

Steve grunted loudly, the sound of it bringing Bucky back to the present, and Bucky moaned as their mouths crashed together, and he felt Steve pump his ass full of cum.

Bucky leaned back against the counter, still gasping, and Steve rested against him as he breathed deep. They remained there, immobile for a long moment, before Steve teleported them to Bucky's bedroom, still naked, and returned to the kitchen to clean their mess up before he returned yet again, this time with a plate of cookies for them to share. 

“Mmm, cookies and sex,” Bucky purred as he picked up one of the chocolate cookies studded with peanut butter chips. “ _ Heaven. _ ”

“Only the best for you, My Bucky,” Steve cooed as he moved in to kiss him, unfortunately just as Bucky had jammed the cookie in his mouth, and he snorted when Steve's lips fell on the confection instead of him. 

Bucky finished the cookie in two huge bites, then leant in to kiss Steve properly. 

“I yet again find myself amazed...” Steve mused aloud before he moved in to kiss Bucky again before he continued his thought aloud, “our elders say that young faeling cannot fornicate with humans because we would not be able to control ourselves, and we would hurt our human lover. I'm beginning to wonder if that was a ruse to keep us away from such beauties as you.”

Bucky blushed, having no idea how to respond to that without sounding dismissive, or conceited. Instead, he ate another cookie before he moved in to kiss Steve again, the fairy letting out a soft groan of pleasure at the press of Bucky's naked body against his own.

“Would it be okay if I broke our sexy marathon tonight and went out with my friends in town?” Bucky asked curiously as he nestled into Steve's arms, and went for another cookie. He hoped the shift in subject didn't sound dismissive, but Steve didn't appear too offended by the jump from romantic to conversational pillow talk. “Darcy's been bugging me to go out with them, if nothing else than to prove to our other friends that I'm not actually dead, or hiding out here alone, or something...”

“You don't need to ask my permission for something like that, Bucky,” Steve said as he leant in to peck Bucky's lips with a gentle kiss. “I am just a part of your life, I don't want to take away the rest of it.”

Something in Steve's statement, paired with the tender look on his face gave Bucky the impression that the fairy probably knew that Bucky had been disregarding other aspects of his life in order to spend more time with Steve. It wasn't as though Steve had been actively trying to cut Bucky off from his friends, however. They'd discussed the possibility of inviting Darcy over to meet him a couple of times given that she actually believed in fairies, but Steve hadn't been comfortable with showing himself to more humans, like it was somehow indecent for him to do so. However, he had promised to think about it before he made a decision one way or the other. 

Bucky was glad of that. He'd never really been with someone problematic (at least, not in an abusive sense) but that was due to his own nigh-obsessive seeking of red flags, and he often dumped the guys in his life who began to exhibit any kind of questionable behaviour, like trying to dictate what he did, or obsessively monitoring his movements, or something.

He knew he'd been lucky that he hadn't been sucked in by their bullshit, especially when Bucky was well-aware that not everyone had that sort of privilege. If Steve had done it, Bucky hoped that he would have the wherewithal to pull back, but with Steve's magic powers, Bucky honestly didn't know if that would be possible.

Luckily, Steve hadn't. In fact, he'd encouraged Bucky to go out and see his friends often, and never complained about it. It was pretty clear that Steve did not wish for his presence to stop Bucky from leading a full life, which made Bucky fall a little bit more in love with him each time that he did it.

“I'm glad that you're so good to me,” Bucky said at last while he fished another cookie off the plate, and offered Steve a smile. “Makes things...better.”

“I never want to hurt you, Bucky,” Steve replied, his voice dropping its sweet tone and becoming deeply serious. 

“I know, baby,” Bucky said with a soft smile as he shuffled closer. “You don't need to convince me.”

Steve smiled, part an adoring expression, part relief, and instead of speaking, he helped himself to one of the cookies on the plate before Bucky managed to eat them all himself.

~*~

After one last impromptu fuck in the shower, Bucky reluctantly cleaned up and got dressed in a red V-neck T-shirt, fitted jeans, and a black hoodie. He tied up his long hair into a messy bun, and after he offered Steve one last kiss, he grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet, and reluctantly stepped out of the door.

Bucky hummed as he followed the road down to the village, wishing he'd thought to bring his headphones. The crisp autumn night was practically begging for a soundtrack of Bright Eyes to go along with it, but without that he opted instead for humming  _ Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh  _ as he walked. 

Bucky grimaced as his hands and forearms began to itch as he crossed into town. He reached down to scratch, and found the back of his right hand was rough with dry skin. He made a mental note to buy some hand cream at some point soon; his hands always got really dry during the cooler months, anyway.

The itching and scratching revealed a few hives at his wrist, and he forced himself to stop scratching before his hands got too inflamed. When he looked down again, he saw that it looked like an eczema outbreak on his wrist and up his forearm, though he was fairly certain it was just hives, most likely from his detergent. 

_ This night's off to a great start,  _ Bucky thought sourly, scratching at his arm again, even as he tried to tell himself to knock it off. 

Bucky headed into  _ The And and Wasp _ , immediately spotting his group at a booth near the back of the bar. Jane and Thor were snuggled up together over enormous tankards of beer, and Darcy was on the other side with Nat and Clint, though she didn't look too sour at the notion of going out for drinks with her boss. Despite their prickly relationship, after work they were perfectly friendly together. 

“Hey, you made it,” Darcy said with obvious relief in her voice as Bucky slid into the booth next to her. “We just ordered nachos and chicken wings, and I asked for a vodka soda for you.”

“You're a  _ saint _ ,” Bucky said with a dramatic sigh, which made the group laugh. “Spicy or not spicy wings?”

“Only a little bit spicy,” Thor said, pinching his fingers together, which made Bucky snort. Past experience had taught him that when Thor said something was  _ a little bit spicy _ it was usually inedible for everyone else at the table. He hoped that the big man had at least thought to ask for extra ranch to go with them.

Instead of commenting on it, Bucky tucked his hands under the table, and engaged the others in conversation. He talked more with Darcy than the others, in part because it was starting to look like a couples night, and he didn't want his friend to feel too left out. When his drink came, he tucked his hoodie up over his right hand so as to not freak out or gross out any of his friends by the state of his skin, but he did borrow Nat's mango-scented hand cream when the itching flared up again. 

“So, gonna tell me what the hell happened to your hand?” Darcy prompted an hour later when they volunteered to go over to the bar for refills. 

“Just a rash,” Bucky said with a shrug, and dropped his sleeve to show her, which caused her to grimace before he tucked the sleeve up again. “It started when I was walking over here; I always have skin problems in the winter.”

“Except it's barely autumn,” Darcy pointed out, pausing their talk when the bartender turned to them, and Darcy rattled off their orders and which table they were at. When she stepped away to get their drinks organized, Darcy turned back to Bucky and added, “does it usually kick up so early?”

“Sometimes,” Bucky replied with another shrug. “Depends on the weather. Why? What are you getting at?”

“Let's talk about it later,” Darcy said instead of giving him a real answer, and together they headed back over to the table. 

It was around Drink Number Five that Clint had decided he and Bucky were destined to be best friends, and after Bucky let Clint enter his number into his phone, Nat decided it might be best for them to call it a night. Jane and Thor had agreed (long before Thor's usual strip show), and after splitting up the tab, they meandered outside in a cluster before breaking off into their respective pairs, heading down the street towards their homes.

Darcy had casually suggested that she walk Bucky partway home, and no one complained at that as Darcy grabbed Bucky's arm in an iron grip, and steered him down the road at a brisk pace that was just short of a run. 

“So, I've been reading up on fairies since you've been dating one,” Darcy said as they walked, sounding a little out of breath as they moved. “Honestly, it's a bit hard to separate the truth from the bullshit, but one thing that kept coming up was people who claimed that they were  _ part-fairy _ after they got fucked by one.”

“ _ Excuse  _ me?” Bucky sputtered as he skidded to a stop. “That sounds like something out of a lame RPG.” He paused, and took on the tone of a teenager as he said, “ _ I'm half-orc, half-vampire, half-druid, half-angel, and half-demon. _ ” He rolled his eyes. “I might be dating a fairy, but people can't  _ become  _ one. That's just nuts.”

“Oh,  _ really? _ ” Darcy raised an eyebrow at him, then reached into her pocket, and tossed something to him.

He caught it on reflex, but gasped as whatever it was burned his hand like he had been handed a hot coal, and he dropped it. As he looked down at his palm, even by the yellow light of the street lamp, he could see a shiny burn mark in the shape of a nail.

“So pure iron  _ normally _ hurts you?” Darcy asked dryly as she gazed at Bucky dubiously while she crouched down and picked up the bent nail without hurting herself, twirling the thing between her fingers casually, making it clear that Bucky couldn't protest and claim that it was a trick, or pre-heated or something. 

“I...I...” Bucky stammered as he tried to find something to say,  _ anything  _ to say, but nothing came to him as his panic began to mount. What had Steve  _ done _ to him?

“I'm gonna talk to Gam-Gam about it, if you're okay with that,” Darcy said, her tone softening to something more gentle, and losing its usual sarcastic drawl. “Maybe to find a way to reverse it. The others probably won't notice or care, but it's gonna be real uncomfortable for you if you break out into hives every time you cross the barrier when you come into town.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, staring down at his hands again, one still looking metallic, but the glamour seemed to be wavering from whatever Anti-Fairy magic was in place on the town. It was yet another reminder that Steve had  _ done _ something to him. Had he done it on purpose? Had it been his plan all along? 

“I think...I probably need to go,” Bucky said weakly as he took a small step back from his friend. Darcy opened her mouth, her eyes widened in a look just shy of panic, but it disappeared in the same moment as she nodded.

“Good luck, Bucky.”

~*~

Bucky felt unnervingly calm as he walked the rest of the way home in the dark. This time, there was no mistaking the feeling of him passing over the barrier. His skin itched and burned, and Bucky could feel it spreading to his neck and legs, and his muscles twitched as he fought the urge to scratch the new hives that had amassed upon his skin, like he'd jumped naked into a patch of poison oak. 

Bucky didn't know if he wanted to cry, or start shouting.  _ How  _ could Steve do this to him? Shouldn't he have  _ known  _ that something like this could happen? Did he know, and just do it on purpose?

“Bucky, you're home!” Steve cried happily as he appeared in the doorway, smiling broadly as he saw his human, but it dimmed the moment that Bucky's expression registered with him. “What happened?”

Bucky had no idea what to say. He was shaking, and he knew that if he opened his mouth now, he would immediately start screaming. Instead, he focused all this thoughts on what had happened—the hives, Darcy's suspicions, the nail,  _ everything. _

He knew that it had worked when all the colour drained from Steve's face, and he took a nervous step back. 

“Bucky, I...” he paused, and swallowed thickly. “I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry?” Bucky demanded, his voice so loud and so incredulous that Steve visibly winced at the sound of it. “You're  _ sorry? _ ” he repeated, his anger spiking even more. After all that, all the stupid man could say was  _ sorry?  _ “You  _ promised  _ me that we were being safe, and instead you...you...you turned me into a  _ freak! _ ”

“But I've told you!” Steve protested, his voice jumping up in volume as he gazed at Bucky pleadingly. “I told you that I've never been with a human before! I swear to you, Bucky, I never could have predicted this!”

“But you should have!” Bucky snapped back. “You've been around for what, a few hundred years? You should have  _ known  _ that something like this could have happened!”

“How was I to know?” Steve demanded, his voice breaking a little, though Bucky couldn't tell if it was out of frustration, or desperation, or both. “precious few fairies find love with human like this, and it is ill-advised for lower fairies to be with humans; I could not have known that this would change you so profoundly.”

“And you didn't think this  _ ill-advised  _ thing was for a fucking  _ reason? _ ” Bucky snapped back, making the fairy wince. 

“I thought it was for antiquated reasons of keeping our race pure, untainted by humans,” Steve tried to explain, the statement sounding so ridiculous that it could have come straight out of a novel. “I could not have anticipated that  _ this _ was the reason for the elders advising us against being with humans.”

“God, could you even  _ fathom _ taking responsibility for your damn self?” Bucky shot back angrily, his fierce tone making Steve's eyes darken in visible frustration, but Bucky didn't care—he was too angry to care. “ _ You're _ the all-knowing immortal magic asshole.  _ You  _ should have known something like this could happen—that it was something we needed to protect against!”

“How was I supposed to protect against it?” Steve demanded, his anger showing more prevalently now as he parted his feet and squared his shoulders, like he was bracing himself for Bucky to start throwing punches. “The only reason I stayed is because you wouldn't make your wish. The only reason I  _ fell in love with you _ is because I could not leave. If you wish to blame anyone for this, blame  _ yourself _ .”

_ “Fine!”  _ Bucky shouted back.  _ “Then I wish you'd leave and never come back!” _

Steve paled.

His whispered plea of, “ _ no, _ ” was barely audible.

In an instant, Steve vanished into thin air.

There was a chilling finality to the act, and immediately Bucky felt as though something was wrong— _ very  _ wrong. 

This didn't feel like all the other times Steve had gone away. 

This felt...final.

“Steve?” Bucky whispered into the air, calling to him, but Steve did not reappear. “St-Steve?”

No one came.

Bucky was alone.

Bucky's knees gave way as he fell onto his door mat. 

Alone, Bucky wept.


	14. Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for July 19th. So sorry about the delay!

Chapter Fourteen – Far Away

Bucky couldn't talk. He thought it might be shock, he didn't really know. He at least managed to text Darcy, _Steve's gone, please come _before he broke down again, and sobbed loudly into his hands. She arrived within minutes, and burst into the house without knocking.

“Bucky?” Darcy ventured as she stepped inside, sounding far less snarky and far more concerned than Bucky could recall ever hearing from her before. “Oh, Bucky...”

Bucky turned, sniffling sharply as he gazed at her from the floor of his front hallway.

“He's gone,” Bucky croaked as he reached up to wipe at his face with his sleeve. “I—I got so angry and I said this _st-stupid _w-wish...”

“Come on, sweetie,” Darcy said as she casually kicked off her shoes and stepped forward to help Bucky to his feet. “I'm gonna get you something to drink, and we're gonna talk about this, okay? Don't worry, I promise we'll get your fairy back.”

Bucky nodded, not quite able to really come up with what to say in response, and he just let Darcy lead him to his kitchen table, while she plopped teabags into overlarge mugs, and switched on the kettle.

Bucky didn't speak as he watched her dig out a box of oreos from the pantry, and milk and sugar for the tea, which she set in front of him. Once the kettle hissed, she poured the hot water into the mugs, and carried them over to the table.

“Now, wanna tell me what happened when you got back here?” Darcy asked, still speaking gently, like she was addressing a spooked animal.

“I was mad, and we argued,” Bucky muttered as he stared down into the mug. He liked his tea very strong, so he wasn't doing much with it, but Darcy was already topping up her own with a sickening amount of milk and sugar. “Then he claimed the only reason he was hanging around was because I wouldn't make a wish, so I said...I s-said..._I wish you'd leave and never come back._”

Bucky's voice caught, and he momentarily buried his face in his hands. Darcy didn't say anything as she watched him, patiently waiting for him to calm down and continue, though the silence was broken ever so slightly by her munching on one of the oreos.

“Th-Then he just..._disappeared_. But...it wasn't like he meant to do it. It was like...like he had no control over it, and he wouldn't come back when I called for him.” Bucky took another deep breath, and rubbed roughly at his eyes. “Fuck, I think I was _actually _falling in love with the guy, and then _this _happens...”

“Well, when it comes to Fairy Lore, there's a lot of power in words,” Darcy said gently. “Like...Power of a Name, stuff like that—”

“—what's that?” Bucky interrupted as he reached for an oreo. He wasn't exactly hungry, but he needed to do _something _with his hands. “The Power of a Name...thing.”

“According to the legends we know about fairies, they can use words to do certain things,” Darcy explained with a shrug of her shoulders. “Especially names. Fairies learn your name and they own it, sort of...I can't remember all the details. Gam-Gam always warned me against telling strangers my name because of that, and not just because of Stranger Danger.”

“Oh.” Bucky scrunched up his face as he thought it over; it all sounded pretty complicated. Since Steve knew his name, did that mean he _owned_ him? Or just his name? He wasn't sure.

“Anyway,” Darcy continued as though they hadn't gone off on a tangent, “even though you didn't _mean _what you said, it was still a wish. Maybe the wish ruled over Steve as much as it did over you. Maybe Steve couldn't control the wish as much as he wanted you to believe. From what you've told me, it sounds like he didn't actually _want _to go.”

“That's not as comforting when he's already gone,” Bucky mumbled sullenly, and Darcy smiled at him sadly.

“Well, do you want him back?”

“What do you think?” Bucky shot back, which caused his friend to laugh. “I just...I don't know how.”

“I can ask Gam-Gam if you want,” Darcy offered as she pulled out her phone. “You can already see the fairy world, and this half-fairy thing might mean you're not susceptible to some of the fairy laws like a human would be. You have a better chance of finding Steve and coming _back_ than an ordinary human would.”

“Can you translate that?” Bucky asked weakly, and Darcy smiled at him again, pausing as though she was thinking it over before she launched into a hasty explanation.

“The fairy world is designed to keep humans there,” she said, then paused to sip her tea. Outside it had started to rain, and the heavy droplets struck the windows with a sharp _rat-a-tat_. “Gam-Gam told me all the stories when I was little. The fairy world is supposed to be like a paradise, and it's designed to draw humans in. You can leave whenever you want, but it'll take you years and years to find your way out, and everything you see can trick you into staying there. If you eat the food and drink the water, your hunger and thirst will never be quenched by anything but the stuff in the fairy world. You can ask a fairy for help, but they'll always ask for something in return, usually one of your future children, or they'll make you undergo some sort of series of trials that's always skewed in the favour of the fairy, so you'll never escape.

“Basically, if you go there without the right supplies, you're completely fucked,” Darcy summarized as she munched on another cookie. “But fairies can come and go as much as they like; nothing actually ties them there. That's why I think you have a better chance of going there and coming back, even if you have no real fairy powers.”

“But how do I get there?” Bucky asked, and Darcy shrugged, which caused Bucky to glare at her. “_Thanks,_ that's helpful.”

“No, really, I have no clue,” Darcy insisted, while Bucky finally took a sip of the tea without removing the teabag. It was definitely calming, and the talk of possibly going to find Steve also helped. “That's why I suggested I contact Gam-Gam, she might know how to get there. She knows all sorts of crazy stuff about fairies.”

“Like how to get there?” Bucky suggested, his voice escaping him more snappishly than he'd intended, and Darcy smiled at him, pointedly ignoring his tone.

“Like how to get there,” she affirmed, and Bucky managed a small, hopeful smile.

~*~

It quickly became clear that it was too late at night to go and wake Darcy's grandmother, and Darcy promised to bring her over the following day around lunchtime, with the implication that Bucky was expected to provide some sort of lunch for them. Bucky didn't mind that so much, but the notion of being left alone all night was another sort of beast altogether.

After Darcy left, Bucky felt as though the house was just _too _quiet, even with the rain thundering outside. He doubled up his sleep meds, put on a face mask, and put on a podcast, but the podcast he'd elected began to discuss The Fae, and it took Bucky far too long to find something else to listen to, settling at last on a podcast of short horror stories to lull him to sleep.

Thankfully, the combination of the female narrator's smooth, soft voice and his extra medication did the work for him, and he quickly dropped off to sleep. When the next morning came, Bucky felt slow and sluggish, and it was almost noon when Bucky finally dragged himself out of bed, and only because Darcy had texted them informing him that they were on their way.

Too worn out to really prepare any sort of meal, Bucky hopped on one of his takeout apps and ordered too much pizza, chicken wings, and soft drinks while he hastily jumped into some jeans and a _Jets to Brazil _T-shirt and brushed his teeth, just as Darcy's car pulled up outside.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed after he raced downstairs, and as he swung open the door, he was witness to the sight of Darcy standing there next to her grandmother with her fist raised, like she had been preparing to knock.

“You look like death,” she said by way of response, and Bucky snorted.

“Pizza is on the way,” he retorted, and Dorothy immediately perked up.

“Oh, I do love pizza,” she said cheerily as Bucky stepped back to let the two women in. “And such a _lovely _house. And you built it yourself, my granddaughter says.”

“Not really,” Bucky replied as he led them into the living room, where Dorothy and Darcy sat side by side on the couch, while Bucky took up residence on one of the armchairs. “My sister raised money to build it for me—she thought a place away from the big city would be good for me.”

“I have to agree with her,” Dorothy said with a kind smile. “Always good to breathe the fresh air, especially when your mind starts to lie to you.” She paused, her expression thoughtful, before she began to speak again, her tone more solemn this time. “Darcy has told me what happened, and I am so sorry...would you like to tell me in your own words what happened?”

Bucky swallowed, not quite prepared to jump into it all again so soon after waking up, but he was momentarily relieved from answering by the ringing of the doorbell, and he jumped up to get the order from the pizza guy. When he turned back to the living room, he saw that Dorothy had moved to the dining table near the back of the house, and Darcy had invaded his kitchen, apparently rooting around for plates and glasses.

For a few minutes, everyone's attention shifted to the food. Darcy and Bucky loaded up their plates with the pepperoni pizza and chicken wings, while Dorothy stuck to the plain cheese. He was first to start eating, mostly because he needed something in his stomach to pair with his meds, which neither of his house guests seemed to mind.

“Now that we have some food in front of us, would you feel comfortable telling me what happened, Bucky?” Dorothy asked as she used a knife and fork to cut into her pizza, twirling the latter utensil like the strings of cheese were spaghetti, and daintily placed the forkful in her mouth.

Bucky sighed deeply, _really _not wanting to go over it all again, but he knew he had to if he was to have any hope of getting Steve back.

Reluctantly, Bucky repeated the story, speaking with his eyes fixed on his plate while he spoke in a monotone, punctuating his story with bites of pizza or chicken wings, but even his shoddy table manners didn't seem to deter Dorothy, who listened to him patiently, and without interruption.

“Well, that's _quite _the mess you've made of things,” Dorothy said, though despite the possible harshness of her words, she spoke warmly, and with a smile, like she didn't actually blame him for what happened. “We all say things we don't mean in moments of anger, but unfortunately when dealing with the Fae, words have much more power.”

“I'm beginning to get that,” Bucky replied sullenly as he picked at his pizza crust, and Dorothy offered him another warm smile. “Why did he grant that wish though? It almost looked like he didn't want to.”

“I can only guess at that, Bucky,” Dorothy said as she reached across the table and touched the back of his hand in a gentle, motherly sort of fashion. “All that we humans know about fairies come from historical sources, yes, but ultimately _human_ sources, so my guess might not be entirely correct.

“The concept of a wish—for the Fae, at least—isn't so much granted, but fulfilled.” Bucky blinked at her, his expression blank, and she chuckled warmly. “Think of it like...a debt, in a sense. The fairy who must grant the wish uses their own power to do so, but they cannot control the form that wish might take. If the human wishes for the fairy to be their servant, or to hurt themselves in some way, the fairy cannot refuse it. It's the punishment for being caught by the human in the first place.”

“So Steve's powers fulfilled my stupid wish, not him,” Bucky filled in, and Dorothy nodded.

“I think so,” she replied. “From what you have told me, it sounds like he never intended to leave.”

“So what do I do now?” Bucky asked, his voice cracking a little as he spoke, and he paused to sip his drink in order to try and calm himself down. “I _need _to find him. I can't go on the rest of my life without him—I _can't_.”

“Well, I believe there's two options in front of you,” Dorothy said as she set down her utensils, and took a sip of her coke. Bucky nodded, inviting her to continue, though it was a long moment before she actually spoke again.

“Neither of these options will be easy, Bucky,” she said, her voice gentle and maternal, something of it making Bucky ache for his own mom in a weird sort of way, though internally he knew that she would have been much more critical than Dorothy was being.

“But not impossible,” he filled in at last, and she nodded her head.

“In theory, neither of them are impossible, yes,” Dorothy replied patiently, “but they're not easy, either.”

“Well, maybe I should be the judge of that,” Bucky countered, his tone sharp enough that he earned a glare from Darcy, which he ignored.

“The first option is to capture another fairy, and wish for Steve to come back,” Dorothy continued, almost as though she'd never heard his remark. “You can see them now, but that doesn't mean one will be easy to catch, especially considering what Darcy has told me of...your condition.”

“My condit—oh, yeah.” Bucky grimaced. Honestly, the whole _part-fairy _thing was the hardest part to accept out of all this. “Why would that make it hard?”

“Well, to capture a fairy, it's usually best to weaken it, such as with iron or silver, both metals which you can't touch without pain now.”

“So how would I catch one, then?” Bucky asked, squirming in his seat as he spoke. How was he supposed to function in the real world if he was allergic to those things?

_Well, maybe it's like a real allergy, _Bucky mused while Dorothy began to detail ideas for how to catch one, most of which sounded like something straight from the film reels of Looney Tunes. _Like...allergic to shellfish, or dairy. It's not like it's a death sentence, after all._

“So...what about option two?” Bucky asked when Dorothy had finished another explanation about some kind of trap with cream and an iron birdcage, which Bucky ignored. He knew Dorothy meant well, but some of her ideas were a whole new level of crazy.

“Option two would be to travel to Otherworld and find Steve yourself, but I wouldn't recommend that.”  
“Why not?” Bucky asked as he took another bite of pizza. “Darcy said there'd be no risk for me...because of what happened, I mean.”

“We don't know that for sure,” Dorothy said, her voice losing all of its kindness in that moment, and it became deadly serious. “You're only part-fairy, Bucky—_part_. The rest of you is still very much human. We have no idea if you'd be immune to the food of Otherworld, the water, or its people. One wrong word and you could be trapped there forever as a plaything for immortals. We don't know if your changed blood would protect you from that.”

“What kind of words do you mean?” Bucky asked curiously, and Dorothy frowned, almost like she didn't approve of him even _considering _a trip to fairy land.

“Any sort of promise or bargain. Giving your name to a fairy—names have great power to Fairy Folk. If they own your name, they own you. The name in particular is very dangerous to give away freely. If you're honestly thinking about going to Otherworld, I'd consider letting me give you a protective talisman at the very least, and using some kind of alias.”

“This sounds more like James Bond than Fairy Land,” Bucky mused, which earned him twin sets of glares. “Sorry.”

“This _isn't _a joke, Bucky,” Darcy said crossly as she frowned at her friend. “If you're not careful, you could get _stuck _there. Is that what you really want?”

“No,” Bucky mumbled, and shifted his gaze to Dorothy. “Sorry, ma'am.”

“I need you to take this seriously, Bucky,” Dorothy said as she reached across the table and grasped one of his hands. Though she was mostly repeating what Darcy had said, her words were gentler, and less accusatory. In truth, it made it easier to listen to her, and not brush off what she had to say. “This is a place unknown to humans. People who go there _do not _come back. I don't want to see that happen to someone as sweet and handsome as you.”

Bucky felt himself blush at the compliment, but that didn't take away from the seriousness of what Dorothy was saying. He wanted to say something confident, maybe about how if he came back from the Middle East alive, he sure as hell could come back from Fairy Land, but in hindsight, it did seem a little more dangerous than what he'd experienced in the army. The notion that he might not ever come back—not see his friends or his family ever again was a scary concept.

“What do I need to do to make sure I come back?” Bucky asked, and Dorothy smiled at the thin quality of his voice. For a moment, Bucky almost wanted to be angry with her for finding something funny about his fear, but then it hit him—she was pleased that he was finally taking it seriously.

Which was probably good, all things considered.

“Pack the biggest bag you can carry with food, water, and orienting supplies—compass, backup compass, that sort of thing. Once you cross into Otherworld, you won't be able to eat anything you find there—the food and water is cursed for humans. I understand that you're not fully human anymore, but we can't take any chances. I'll also provide you with a talisman that will protect you from psychic attack so that any fairies you meet can't just pluck your name from inside your mind.”

“I can do that,” Bucky replied, bowing forward a little in his seat as he gazed at Dorothy. “After that, how do I actually get there?”

“You go into the woods, and follow the pull of magic,” Dorothy explained, and she smiled warmly at Bucky's bemused expression. “It's not as hard as it seems.”

“How do I do that?” Bucky asked, fighting to keep his expression from looking too irritated, especially when she didn't exactly explain it properly. “The magic...thing?”

“It feels differently for everyone,” Dorothy said as she continued to smile at him. “For some, it could feel like following sunlight through the trees, while others might feel a particular tingle in their stomach, like when they are excited about something. As long as you keep calm and follow the sensation, you will make it to where you want to go. Human magick is all about intent.”

“But humans can't do magic,” Bucky replied as he blinked at her bemusedly, and Dorothy smiled at him in an almost enigmatic sort of way.

“Can't they?”

There was something odd in the way Dorothy said that—something that Bucky couldn't quite identify. He didn't know if she meant that humans could do real magic like from the movies, or if she meant something else—something deeper.

Bucky didn't know if Dorothy could do magic, or if she was just a _little _bit crazy.

_But maybe that's what I need right now, _Bucky thought. Being rational wasn't really working for him, so maybe going off the deep end was exactly what he needed.

And Dorothy would be the right person to show him how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In case anyone's wondering, the two podcasts that Bucky listened two were GraveYard Tales and Scare You To Sleep :P


	15. Into The Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for August 2nd. Sorry for the slight lateness again! 

Chapter Fifteen – Into The Woods

Bucky never really considered himself a wuss by any means, but standing there at the edge of the woods on that cool autumn morning felt nothing short of terrifying, even with the support of Darcy and Dorothy at his back. 

The backpack he held was heavy, weighed down with water and what felt like a metric ton of non-perishable food that would keep him going—granola bars, beef jerky, and dried fruit, along with a few changes of clothes. At his hip was a hunting knife that Dorothy had made for him out of pure iron, the handle crafted out of some kind of leather to keep it from burning him if he needed to use it.

“Now remember, Bucky,” Dorothy said as she placed a hand on his forearm, “follow the magic. It can take many forms, a feeling, a light, a tickling on your skin...and if you're ever uncertain, follow your intuition. The magic will guide you to Otherworld. There, you'll find Steve.”

_ Steve... _

Bucky almost wanted to weep at the thought of him. He  _ hated  _ that it was his own stupidity that had caused this mess. 

“I'll get him back,” Bucky said roughly. “I'll find him.”

“Good luck, Bucky,” Darcy said, and Bucky turned to offer her a reassuring smile, then did the same for Dorothy, and with one last deep breath to steady himself, he turned again, and ran for the woods.

The woods felt largely the same as the last time Bucky had entered them, though they seemed to be paired with a sense of urgency, which Bucky thought could be coming from him, rather than the trees. 

Bucky followed the path, the same one that he'd used when ghost-hunting with Darcy and Jane...and Steve.

Bucky remembered all too well what Steve had said when they'd traversed that path— _ you're coming too close, turn back, run— _ and now, Bucky was determinedly doing the exact opposite. 

Dead autumn leaves crunched under Bucky's boots, and the air smelled crisp. It was cold, but not  _ too  _ cold, and the wind whispered through the stripped tree branches, tickling Bucky's cheeks. Nothing felt out of the ordinary, and he couldn't feel any of the magic that Dorothy talked about. 

In truth, the only thing Bucky felt was  _ frustrated _ . 

He followed the path so deeply into the woods he felt like he ran the risk of accidentally winding up in Canada, and he couldn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary. The  _ follow the magic  _ state of mind didn't seem to be working out—he couldn't feel anything except a little bit of indigestion.

Grumbling to himself, Bucky veered off the main path and onto a more narrow one that seemed to be blocked off by a line of toadstools, like something straight out of  _ Alice in Wonderland _ . They looked too perfect to be real, and Bucky imagined that it was the town's weird attempt to 'beautify' the paths—maybe after finding a dead squirrel on it or something.

Regardless, Bucky stepped over the toadstools with a grumpy huff, and pressed deeper into the woods. 

“This is so  _ stupid, _ ” Bucky grumbled over an hour later as he munched on a s'mores granola bar. “I'm just getting myself lost. This is how people get eaten by bigfoot.”

Bucky wasn't entirely sure who he was talking to, but complaining out loud at least made him feel a little better. The path he'd chosen seemed to be bracketed by nothing but towering alder trees with long, twisting limbs, and tall flowers that probably shouldn't have been flowering, given the outside temperature. His phone's weakening 5G told him that the flowers were called foxglove, which really made no sense to Bucky. They didn't look like foxes  _ or  _ gloves.

Bucky was beginning to debate the merits of turning back and asking Dorothy for more fairy-finding tips when he heard something. It wasn't a natural sound of the forest; not the wind, or a bird, or some other kind of forest animal. 

It was singing.

It sounded like a woman's voice, sweet yet haunting, and swirling around him like claws dipped in honey. Part of him wanted to blindly follow the noise, while another, stronger part of him wanted to turn and  _ run _ . 

Instead, Bucky reached down for his hip, and withdrew his hunting knife.

His skin hummed at the close proximity of the pure iron, but the leather-bound hilt did exactly what it was supposed to do, and it protected him from burning himself. Bucky moved forward hesitantly, and the singing grew louder, more beckoning. 

Bucky turned around a bend, expecting to finally find the source of the song, but instead he found...a cat.

Bucky blinked, certain he was seeing things, but there, in the middle of the forest path was a black domestic cat with silver-white eyes. 

“What the...?”

“Good afternoon, Bucky,” it said in perfect English, though it carried an accent that Bucky couldn't quite place. West African, maybe?

“How do you know my name?” Bucky demanded, and the cat laughed. Actually  _ laughed _ .

“I've been waiting for you, Bucky Barnes, the part-human,” it said. “I am T'Challa, and I have it under good authority that you like cats.”

“Who sent you?”

“Steven, of course,” T'Challa said. “He thought you might come looking. You'll need a guide to stay safe in our world.”

“And you're that guide?”

“I am no one's  _ guide, _ ” T'Challa corrected, his fur sticking up in annoyance. “Steve is owed a debt when he saved me from the dark sprites. I did not ask for his help, but now I owe him a debt. He cannot come to you, so you must go to him.”

“But you just said...” Bucky trailed off, and shook his head. “Never mind. So why are you a cat?”

“Because you like them,” T'Challa repeated. “Or, would you prefer my natural form?”

T'Challa shut his eyes, and abruptly he began to grow, he grew until he was several inches taller than Bucky, with black skin, short, curly hair, brown eyes, and pointed elf-like ears. He wore what looked like armour, but it was black and adorned with silver, twisting designs, like ivy. A dark blue cape hung from his shoulders dotted with specks of silver thread, making it look like the night sky. At his hip he bore two sheathed blades, one longsword, and one dagger. 

“Damn,” Bucky breathed, and T'Challa smirked at him, showing a row of perfectly white teeth. Then, with no more effort than it took to blink, he changed back into the cat. 

“It is easier to walk these paths in this form,” T'Challa explained, “but do not think I am _less_ because I am small. I am king of my lands to the west. Your Steven gets this one debt fulfilled—_one_. I am not in the habit of babysitting wayward faelings.”

“ _ Faelings, _ ” Bucky muttered under his breath, testing the word out on his tongue, and when he looked back up, he saw that T'Challa was already walking away, tail pointed high in the air in clear agitation. “Hey, wait for me!”

“I told you, I am not in the habit of babysitting faelings,” T'Challa said irritably, even as Bucky fell into step with him. “If you cannot keep up, I will leave you behind.”

“How come Steve can't come to me?” Bucky asked after a few moments of awkward silence, and T'Challa turned his head, narrowing his eyes at Bucky as though he'd somehow offended him. 

“Because you wished it,” T'Challa explained simply. When Bucky stared back at him blankly, the cat-man heaved a sigh of annoyance. “He is in a Storm Cage now; punishment for changing you.”

“But he didn't—”

“— _ didn't mean to _ isn't an excuse that works within the Court,” T'Challa interrupted. “You used your masculine wiles to seduce Steve. His essence changed you. The Court takes that very seriously.”

“Okay, so how long is he supposed to stay in this cage-thing?” Bucky asked instead. T'Challa wasn't exactly the kind of travel companion Bucky would have hoped for—he didn't seem to like outsiders very much. Though he wanted to protest that Steve shouldn't be in jail, it seemed like kind of a pointless argument when T'Challa kept cutting him off. 

“A thousand years,” T'Challa replied, acting like such a huge span of time was nothing, even as Bucky stared at him incredulously. 

“A  _ thousand _ years?!” Bucky sputtered, his eyes bulging in their sockets. “That's...that's...that's  _ crazy _ !”

“It's nothing to a fairy,” T'Challa said as he meandered along the path as though he didn't have a care in the world. “We live forever, after all.”

“Forever?” Bucky asked, blinking at him. “Really?”

“We shall exist long after the human world is nothing but dust. We existed before, and we shall exist after. It is our way.”

Bucky honestly didn't know what to say to that. Instead he kept quiet, trying to imagine a lifetime with no beginning or end, and in truth the notion kind of scared him. The finality of life was what made it worth living after all, and to  _ not  _ have that...

“Stop.”

Bucky glanced up, and saw that T'Challa had changed back to his human form. The path had opened up somewhat, and there was more space between the trees. T'Challa's hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes were narrowed as he focused on something deeper in the woods. 

“What—”

“— _ Quiet _ .”

Bucky snapped his mouth shut, and reached for his own weapon. The feel of the leather hilt in his hand was comforting, and the sense that _something_ _was coming_ felt familiar. That tension in the air from his time as a soldier was something he knew all too well. 

Unfortunately, Bucky was more accustomed to fighting human-shaped somethings. When a real, giant, fucking  _ dragon _ burst through the foliage with a roar, he let out a yell of shock as he staggered back, while T'Challa drew his sword and leapt forward with a battle cry. 

Bucky realized quickly that T'Challa had the situation completely under control. The dragon was blue-white, with scales that seemed to glitter in the bright sunlight. T'Challa's blade at first looked like glass, but as Bucky watched how it refracted the light, he realized that it wasn't glass—it was made of  _ diamond _ . 

This realization was further evidenced by the way the dragon bit down on the blade, stopping it just shy of slicing its head in half, and it howled in pain as its teeth shattered against it. In anger, it swung out its tail, which T'Challa leapt over effortlessly, and in response it exhaled a lungful of what looked like white fire at the fairy. 

T'Challa hissed as his sword arm was encased in a thick layer of ice, which he slammed against a tree, making the ice crack at his joints just enough for him to make the arm somewhat functional again before he jumped up, twisting his body to avoid another blast of the ice-fire, and he sliced the dragon's head cleanly off the end of its long neck. 

The dragon slumped to the ground, the head rolling over several times before it came to a stop next to Bucky. Bucky stared at it for a long, uninterrupted moment before he managed to lift his gaze back up to T'Challa, who was wiping the green blood off his blade with a rag, and sheathed the sword before he turned his attention to his arm, peeling off chunks of ice with little care, and occasionally banging it against the trunk of a nearby tree to crack it. 

“What...what just happened?” Bucky rasped, his voice causing T'Challa to pause what he was doing, and glance up at Bucky with a slightly amused smile. 

“We just walked into an ice dragon's territory,” T'Challa explained like it was nothing more exciting than running across a duck at a park. “They usually hide in the mountains farther north, but the stone giants have been taking more of their territory and causing them to come south. I will have to pass this information along so that no one else accidentally crosses their path.”

Bucky couldn't work out if T'Challa meant that as a pun, but the guy didn't really seem like the joking type. Instead he watched silently as T'Challa picked the last of the ice from his arm, then loosened the armour to inspect his skin, which was decorated with tattoos of black, twisting vines, and the visible skin was reddened, but to Bucky's untrained eyes, it didn't look frostbitten.

_ Do fairies get frostbite?  _ Bucky wondered as he fought the urge to laugh, and instead he asked, “so, what now? How do we get to Steve?”

“We need to complete a series of trials to reach him, then present our case to the fairy guard,” T'Challa explained as he motioned for Bucky to follow him. He obeyed, sheathing his own knife as he went. The trees continued to thin as they pressed forward, while T'Challa continued to explain. “The guard holds the power to release Steven, if our words manage to sway them. We don't need to worry about that yet—first we need to worry about the Three Trials.”

“That sounds like something out of a video game,” Bucky blurted out before he could think better of it, and T'Challa eyed him oddly. 

“What is a video game?”

“Um...a thing...on earth, like a quest, but without any real danger,” Bucky tried to explain, but it seemed to only confuse T'Challa more. “Never mind. What are the trials?”

“The first is the Whispering Woods,” T'Challa explained as he slowed to a stop, and rubbed at his arm, like it was still bothering him more than he wanted to admit. “We must pass through the wood without losing our way. The woods will call to us, and try to capture us. If we survive it, then we must pass through the Haunted Desert, where we call a spirit guide to lead us safely to the other side. Then we must traverse the Lowlands. If we reach the sea, then we can entreat with the guard.”

“Entreat how?” Bucky asked curiously, and T'Challa gazed at him out of the corner of his eye, looking very much like he was getting tired of all Bucky's questions. 

“Commonly it is a series of riddles,” T'Challa explained as he walked. “In the East of Otherworld, many challenges come in the form of riddles.”

“So...that's it?” Bucky asked as he raced to catch up with T'Challa again. “The guard asks us our name, quest, and favourite colour, and we get Steve back?”

For a moment, T'Challa appeared entirely bewildered by Bucky's statement. Bucky wasn't surprised; he didn't think many fairies were into Monty Python. Instead of bothering to explain it, he kept quiet and waited for T'Challa to get over his confusion and explain further.

“The questions are meant to challenge you,” T'Challa said at last. “Not everyone condemned to a Storm Cage can escape by the Trials, and though Steve's offense is great, it is not beyond forgiveness.”

“So...some people can't get out?” Bucky asked, “Steve told me he was a guard before all this for the Storm Cages...or his group was, I can't remember exactly.”

“Steven was guard over the Storm Cages of Hydra for many years,” T'Challa replied as the forest opened up into a wide, sprawling meadow, like something out of a storybook. 

Some of the creatures Bucky could see in the tall grass were familiar, like deer and rabbits, but others didn't look like anything he could put a name to. Little garden gnome creatures dashed in and out of houses made of wheat stalks, and tiny tinkerbell-type fairies napped in flowers. Giant eagles flew overhead, and headless horses meandered amongst the other quadrupeds like it was completely normal, and not at all creepy.

“What's Hydra?” Bucky asked once he'd gotten over the shock of what he was seeing. T'Challa stepped over the line of toadstools that marked the edge of the woods, and Bucky mimicked him while he continued to stare around at everything. All around them was more woods that seemed to go on forever, but there were tiny differences in the landscape, depending on where he fixed his eyes. 

Directly ahead of them were towering camphor trees. They seemed to take on the vague shape of castle spires, with natural stairs spiralling around the trunks, and windows and doors fitted into the bark. To the right, the dense foliage was broken up by veins of a river, and were filled thickly with trees similar to mangroves. The way the water stirred told Bucky that there was probably something very big swimming through it—something he probably didn't want to meet.

“Hydra is a sect of Dark Fairy. They tried to do some very terrible things, and Steven and House Shield stopped them,” T'Challa explained as he turned to the left, moving towards a segment of woods that seemed darker than the rest. Fog permanently clung to the forest floor, and the leaves on the trees were closer to a dark blue-green, rather than the bright spring hues Bucky saw everywhere else. Instead of the woods being bathed in bright midday sun, the interior was black, like it was the middle of the night. 

Bucky nodded as he followed T'Challa, carefully stepping over the little gnome houses the same way that his companion did. When T'Challa stopped at the edge of the wood however, his halt was so abrupt that Bucky hadn't expected it, and stumbled for a moment before he, too, managed to stop. 

“These are the Whispering Woods,” T'Challa said, a note of respect in his voice that Bucky understood—now that he could see the First Trial in front of him, he understood that it definitely wasn't something to be taken lightly. “If you're ready, we can begin.”

“What if I'm not ready?” Bucky asked, and winced at how that sounded. The last thing he needed was for T'Challa to view him as a coward.

“Then we turn back, and you will never see Steven again,” T'Challa replied simply. “I will not wait for you, Bucky. If you do not wish to do this, I will consider my oath fulfilled, and leave you here.”

Bucky grimaced, but didn't immediately answer. He wanted to find Steve, he really did, but he was scared too. As beautiful as Otherworld was, his path was rife with danger. In truth, he didn't know if he had what it took to get through this in one piece.

_ Well, if Bilbo Baggins can do it, why not me?  _ Bucky wondered, and giggled to himself, which earned him another quizzical look from T'Challa. Bucky was beginning to think that, unlike Steve, reading minds was  _ not  _ one of T'Challa's special powers.

“I'm ready,” Bucky said, sounding more confident than he truly felt.

“Then we begin,” T'Challa said, and motioned towards the woods, as though he was inviting Bucky to go first.

With one last steadying breath, Bucky reached up to tightly grip the straps of his backpack, like it would somehow give him the strength he needed to go on. T'Challa said nothing as he waited for Bucky to proceed, and nodded his head once when Bucky forced himself to take that first step forward, and into his First Trial.


	16. The Whispering Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so sorry for the delay! Unfortunately, a combination of ongoing health issues (not Covid, other fun stuff) stopped me from updating on time. Please enjoy, and next update will be posted on September 6th. 
> 
> **Content Warning: Scary Imagery (Not advised for night-reading if you are easily spooked)**

Chapter Sixteen – The Whispering Woods

The moment Bucky stepped into the woods, he was suffused in absolute silence.

It was like being in the deep sea, the dead quiet seeming to crawl its way into Bucky's ears, muting everything else. For one wild moment Bucky wanted to scream, if for no other reason than to make sure he hadn't gone momentarily deaf.

He turned to remark on this to his companion, but to his horror, he found that he was alone in the wood.

“T-T'Challa?” Bucky said instead, his voice shaking more than he would have liked, and he took another nervous step forward. “T...T'Challa?”

Bucky wanted to say more, when a fierce, almost hateful voice suddenly filled the air around him.

_No, no, no..._

_He's gone, he's gone, he's gone..._

_Alone, All Alone..._

_Lost, lost, lost_

_Come closer, little lamb..._

“T'Challa, this isn't funny!” Bucky shouted as he whirled around, trying desperately to find the source of the voice, but instead he discovered that he wasn't at the edge of the woods—he was in the _middle _of it.

Where had the sunny meadow gone?

All around Bucky was that impenetrable dark, and he had no way to tell which way was the _right _way.

Worse than that, T'Challa was nowhere to be found.

Now, Bucky truly began to panic.

Bucky reached out to grab a tree trunk as he began to hyperventilate. The moment his fingers touched the rough bark however it changed to something soft and smooth, and hissed at him.

Bucky jumped out of the way, just barely avoiding the striking snake. He staggered back, and his hand touched another tree trunk, though this one blessedly did not change shape, but it didn't stop the tree-snake from striking at him again.

Bucky dropped to the ground and tried to roll, but the path was too narrow and his backpack too big and bulky. By some wild stroke of luck, the snake still missed him by a hair, its jaws grinding into the soil while it let out a sharp, angry hiss like an angry cobra.

Bucky leapt to his feet, and did not allow himself time to think. He picked a path direction, and _ran._

He didn't dare look back, and just kept running. His chest ached, he tripped over upturned roots in the dark, falling more times than he would have liked to admit. His hands became a scuffed, bloody mess as he moved. Around him, faces with sightless black holes where eyes should have been, and dark shapeless mouths seemed to flash at him in the dark, like there were beings waiting just on the periphery of the path, waiting—to do what? Bucky wasn't sure he wanted to know.

If nothing else, it was a cold, unsettling reminder to stay on the path. He kept on running until the crashing sounds of the tree-snake faded away, and the beings along the edges of the path seemed to disappear.

Despite this, something told Bucky that they were probably still there.

As Bucky slowed to a walk, he breathed deeply while he tried to catch his breath. It felt like something of a miracle that he'd managed to keep from getting caught by that snake during the run, and as he looked down to investigate the ground for upturned roots or rocks that may have assured his death by snake, all he saw was an even path made of leaf litter that had been pressed flat, making it feel almost suspiciously easy to follow.

The woods, he noticed, were also deadly silent. No natural forest sounds seemed to permeate the stillness, and his footfalls on the leaves sounded almost impossibly loud, reaffirming that he was completely alone in the dark.

That is, except for those _things _he saw just beyond the path.

_I hope T'Challa's okay, _Bucky thought as he walked, eyes wide open as he tried to look into the dark depths of the woods for potential threats.

~*~

Bucky didn't know how much time passed as he walked, but it felt like hours. Even so, he didn't feel hungry or thirsty as he moved, while his heart continued to race, seemingly unable to calm down from the near-miss with the tree-snake at the beginning of his trek. Bucky tried to count the seconds as he walked, but kept losing his place, while the stillness and silence seemed to encroach on his mind, and began to replace itself with a distinct sense of hopelessness.

He squinted into the dark, his pace slowing.

_Come to me, James Barnes._

The sudden voice made Bucky jump and yelp at a much higher pitch than he usually bore, and he blushed with embarrassment, even though there was no one around to see it.

In the same moment that he had fallen still, something touched his back.

Bucky whirled around, eyes wide, but there was nothing there. The path was empty.

Heart picking up speed again, Bucky hastily turned back around, intending to move on when a sudden pain lanced through his right calf. He gasped, his legs buckling a little, and when he looked down, he saw his light jeans darkening. Even with the absence of any kind of real light, Bucky knew that it was blood.

_Come to me, James Barnes._

The sickly sweet voice repeated her sentiment, and Bucky immediately knew that it was time to run.

Something touched his arm, something he couldn't see, but this time Bucky didn't dare pause to try and see what it was. He ran again, the sharp sting in his calf hampering his movements only somewhat, made significantly worse when he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder, right over the star mark that Steve had left upon him.

Maybe it was all in his head, but that knowledge seemed to make it hurt _more_. Bucky picked up his pace, desperate to get away from whatever it was, only to yelp when he felt another pain, this time against his lower back.

Eyes watering as his clothes clung painfully to the bloody wounds, he ran.

~*~

Bucky ran and ran, but the woods never ended, and he only slowed his pace to a walk when he felt reasonably reassured that he wouldn't be attacked again. The whispering never did truly stop, the woods no longer silent, but heavy with alluring calls to him, promising him peace, and love, and all sorts of things that he _longed _for, but knew he wouldn't find if he moved off the path.

Shaking a little, Bucky slowed his pace to a walk as he pulled off his backpack and forced himself to drink some water and eat a granola bar, even though he wasn't hungry or thirsty. It was fairly clear the woods was doing _something _to him beyond the obvious, and the last thing he needed was this place convincing him that he didn't need food or water, and killing him as a result.

Bucky also took the moment to pull out his phone before he pulled the backpack back on. After he'd powered it on, he predictably he had no service, not that he really had anyone to contact anyway. He'd told Becca and his therapist that he was going camping so that they wouldn't freak out if they didn't hear from him for a few weeks, and Darcy had promised to keep an eye on his house for him at home.

No, Bucky had pulled out his phone for the flashlight function, which admittedly he should have done from the start, but he was wary of killing the battery too soon.

Careful to keep moving as he did so, he used the light to inspect his injuries, and started slightly when he saw that his clothes hadn't been torn or cut. He could see blood dotted against his shoulder, hardly enough to imply anything even remotely serious, but _the clothes hadn't been torn. _How was that possible?

Shaking a little, Bucky manoeuvred his backpack strap, hoodie, and T-shirt sleeve in order to expose the site of the injury, and his eyebrows lifted when he found a set of three narrow scratches across the tattoo-like mark, like a cat's scratch.

Bucky fixed his clothes before he lifted the leg of his jeans to be sure, and found the same thing on his calf. Once again, whatever had attacked him managed to do so without damaging his clothing.

Both curious and unsettled, Bucky picked up his pace.

In the same moment, he was certain he could hear an eerie, tinkling laugh from somewhere deeper in the woods.

~*~

Bucky wanted to keep his phone on.

The blue light was comforting, and in a very shallow sort of way, it reminded him of home. The lock screen was a selfie of himself and Darcy at the café sipping iced coffees on the terrasse, and Clint stood in the background, seemingly trying to hide his face behind a giant croissant.

However, it had quickly become clear that his phone was utterly _useless._

Bucky didn't know why, but the flashlight didn't want to work when Bucky directed it into the depths of the woods. The beam never shone as far as it should have, and Bucky was only able to see maybe a foot ahead of him.

Added to that, the light seemed to make the woods _angry._

Bucky didn't know how to explain it, but when he tried to use his phone to light his way, a wind whipped through the chillingly still woods, and the soft, plaintive whispers were replaced by an enraged screaming. When Bucky directed the light on the trees in particular, he was _certain _that he saw something dive into the underbrush. Something tall and white, like a human, but skeletal, and entirely too tall to be natural.

Even though the notion terrified him so badly he felt a little sick to his stomach, he reluctantly shut off the phone, and the screaming immediately stopped.

Bucky stood in the deathly silent wood, and he couldn't stop shaking. He breathed hard, as though he'd been running, and his jacket clung to his sweat-damp skin uncomfortably.

Unfortunately, he'd stood still for too long, and he was rewarded for his stupidity when a spindly hand closed around Bucky's ankle.

Bucky shrieked as he was yanked off his feet. His backpack flipped in the movement, scattering his supplies and phone into the dark even when he'd been _certain _that he'd closed it. Bucky didn't have time to dwell on that fact as he hit the ground hard, and the spindly hand at his ankle began to drag him towards the woods.

Bucky grappled for the ground, the panic in his chest swelling like a balloon as he continued to scream, having a feeling that leaving the path would be a really, _really _bad idea. The endless woods almost seemed to have a mind of their own, and Bucky somehow _knew _that he wouldn't be likely to find the path again if he lost it now.

His fingers dug deep gouges into the soil as he was dragged, his efforts making no difference to the thing that had him. He yelled and screamed as he rapidly approached the edge of the path, where his hands clapped firmly around the trunk of a young tree.

The thing stopped with a jolt. It was still holding onto him, but Bucky's act of grabbing the tree seemed to have stopped it short, at least momentarily.

Bucky didn't wait, but dragged his arms around the trunk to get a better anchor, and stop the thing from trying to drag him again. He hooked his elbows around it, his eyes firmly fixed on the path as he began to pull back, panting hard, the thing hissing angrily as he it yanked on him in response, making Bucky's shoulders ache, and he was certain he could feel that they were very close to dislocating.

Tears of pain streaking his cheeks, Bucky yelled again as he yanked one more time, and he felt the thing's grip slacken, going entirely limp as it shrieked in what sounded to be both anger and pain.

It was limp enough that Bucky felt safe to drag himself back onto the path before he leapt to his feet and broke into a run, not even daring to stay still long enough to gather up what had fallen from his bag.

~*~

Bucky ran at a full sprint, pushing his body to the very limit in an effort to get away from the thing.

His legs shook, threatening to give out, and when he looked down, forcing himself to keep walking, his eyes widened when he saw that a bony hand was still clinging to his ankle, with no body attached. The skin was papery like what he imagined an Egyptian mummy's might be like, and there was a bone sticking out the end, intertwined with dry muscle and ligament.

Careful to keep moving, Bucky reached down and yanked the arm away, like he was getting rid of a mosquito. To Bucky's horror, when he tossed the arm away from him he watched as it immediately got up and scuttle back into the dark of the woods, making him shudder.

The encounter told Bucky, once again, that he couldn't stop, not even to rest.

~*~

Thankfully, walking even at a shambling, zombie-like pace seemed to be enough to put off the things in the woods that wanted him so badly. He used that opportunity to turn his backpack onto his front like an overlarge fanny pack, and as he walked, stumbling occasionally, he took account of what he hadn't lost in the chaos of the attack.

His phone was gone, though Bucky wasn't entirely surprised by that—clearly, the woods _really _didn't like light sources. His backup flashlight was also missing, as was most of his food and all the water.

The compasses were still there, but when Bucky took one out and squinted at the face, trying to see in the dark, he saw that the needle was spinning rapidly like a helicopter's propeller.

_That's probably not good,_ Bucky thought as he packed everything back up, and took out one of the pieces of beef jerky, and ate half of it before he pocketed the rest and placed his bag back on his back. His legs were still shaking, warning that he couldn't keep this up for much longer, but if he stopped, that _thing _would get him again. What was he supposed to do?

_What if these woods go on forever?_

The abrupt thought wasn't his; somehow, he knew that.

Bucky shook his head. Where had that come from?

_What if I've been abandoned?_

Bucky shook his head again. Where were these thoughts coming from? They weren't his—he _knew_ that they weren't. It was like something had stolen his voice, and was trying to speak his thoughts back to him.

_I've been left here to die. The woods won't free me. I'll be walking for eternity._

Bucky shook his head again, even as his heart began to race. He _wasn't _thinking those things, he knew that; the thoughts were just..._there._

Like someone was planting thoughts in his head.

Bucky's brow furrowed, and he pushed forward.

He couldn't stop now.

As Bucky moved, the thoughts became more insistent. No longer were the woods whispering to him; they were trying to invade his mind and _convince _him to stop.

Almost like he was getting close to the end, and they needed to up the ante.

Whatever _they _were.

The wind whipped up again. It roared in Bucky's ears like a hurricane. He slid across the path, and came dangerously close to the edge.

Bucky bowed against the wind, and kept walking.

He forced himself to ignore the thoughts, nor did he dwell on how his head had begun to spin and his limbs trembled with exhaustion, or how dry his mouth felt and how his body seemed much more skeletal than it should have been.

Bucky was so focused on walking through the gale-force winds that he didn't immediately notice the light. The soft glow was beginning to filter through the darkness, like a sunrise—light the literal light at the end of the tunnel.

Suddenly, the winds abruptly stopped.

Bucky yelped, staggering forwards at a half run, and all at once he fell through the last of the trees, and landed outside the woods on the edge of a vast, rocky desert.

“Welcome back, Bucky,” T'Challa said, and he laughed when Bucky let out a long, unhindered moan of relief.

He'd _done_ it.


	17. The Haunted Desert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for September 20th. This chapter came out a little shorter than I would have liked, but I hope you guys enjoy it all the same :) 
> 
> This was a fairly difficult chapter to write, in light of Chadwick Boseman's passing, and I hope that no one feels that I am tarnishing his memory by posting as usual. I was truly at a loss for what would be deemed 'respectful', in particular when I've never found myself in this position before where the actor who portrays one of my favourite characters passes away unexpectedly, especially so young.
> 
> Rest In Power, Mr Boseman, you will truly be missed.

Chapter Seventeen – The Haunted Desert

“Sit,” T'Challa said, enunciating the single syllable with a sharpness that made it clear that it wasn't a suggestion, but an order. “The Whispering Woods bend time, and you need to have water and food now before you'll be ready to proceed.”

“I got a bit of food left, but I lost all my water,” Bucky explained, his voice much more reedy than he'd expected as he walked on rubber legs towards T'Challa, who was sitting cross-legged before a campfire with blue-green flames, instead of the usual orange and red. “Think I'll last long without it?”

“There is a creek; we are not in the Haunted Desert yet,” T'Challa replied smoothly as he pointed towards a narrow stream that was snaking its way through the rocky terrain, and it appeared to be full of fresh, clear water. The sight of it made Bucky remember how truly thirsty he was, and he swallowed thickly as he forced his gaze away, remembering all of Dorothy's dire warnings.

Unfortunately, Bucky's visible refusal of the water was not missed by his companion, and T'Challa's brow furrowed as he gazed across at him.

“Why do you not want the water?” T'Challa demanded, his tone almost accusatory. “I do not know how long it felt to you, but you were in the woods for a _month_, Bucky. You need to eat and drink before your body realizes how deprived it truly is.”

“But...I...I can't. If I do...” Bucky tried to explain while his head spun with both fatigue and thirst. Had he really been in the woods for a _month_? It was hard to believe—from Bucky's perspective it had felt more like a few very long and terrifying hours. Maybe a day, at most.

Luckily, Bucky's slow, jumbled explanation seemed to make a modicum of sense to T'Challa. In response, instead of the sympathy he was expecting, Bucky watched as T'Challa huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Those enchantments will not affect you, Bucky,” T'Challa explained impatiently, like he was teaching something incredibly basic to a toddler. “You are part-fairy, therefore nothing can hold you here; that only applies to humans. You can eat and drink your fill of our world, and you will never be tied to these lands. Surely that must have occurred to you?”

“I...” Bucky trailed off, and blushed with embarrassment. “No. My friends back home, they told me that if I ate or drank anything here I'd trap myself.”

“Foolish humans,” T'Challa grumbled as he rolled his eyes and dug into his tattered pack, coming out with a clay bottle that was stoppered with a cork. “Go to the creek and fill this up. The bottle can hold great amounts of water within. You will need it for your next trial.”

Bucky obeyed, getting up and shuffling over to the water source. It occurred to him that T'Challa _could _be lying, but by the same token he had a feeling that he was telling the truth. Of course, he had no actual evidence to prove this one way or the other—it was just a feeling.

Or maybe he was just too thirsty to think straight.

Bucky uncorked the bottle and dipped it into the water. Though the air felt hot and dry, the water that splashed on and around his hand was crisp and cool. The bottle gurgled in a pleasant sort of way, and while Bucky waited for it to fill, he bowed forward to drink directly from the stream, and nearly moaned at how _good_ it tasted.

In Bucky's mind at least, no fancypants bottled water could come _close _to the taste of the water that now bathed his parched tongue. It was icy cold, but it didn't tickle his throat the way a cold drink in the human world might have. As he drank, it seemed to energize him more thoroughly than any cup of coffee, and he felt almost all of his exhaustion leave him in an instant.

_I really hope I haven't just made a massive mistake..._ Bucky thought as the bottle finished filling, and he reluctantly pulled his face out of the water. He corked the bottle and tried to lift it, and for a moment it felt like he was trying to lift an elephant with his pinkie, but after a few seconds the bottle's weight mysteriously vanished, and he nearly threw it out of the creek, his arm swinging wildly as he let out a startled yelp.

T'Challa didn't react to Bucky nearly throwing his bottle, and as he walked back over T'Challa, wiping his face dry as he went, the man reached into the blue flames like they were nothing and pulled out, of all things, a tiny roast chicken on a platter with crispy potatoes and bright, crisp vegetables.

The chicken was about the size of a small cantaloupe. Its skin was golden and flecked with herbs, and it was steaming like it had come straight out of the oven. The vegetables looked freshly picked, and the potatoes were a perfect golden hue that Bucky had heretofore believed only existed in photoshopped fast food ads.

“Eat,” T'Challa commanded when Bucky got closer, and he pressed the platter into Bucky's hands.

Bucky didn't utter a word of complaint as he sat down and laid the platter across his knees. He ripped off a leg of the chicken, and dug in with a newfound enthusiasm.

Bucky inhaled the huge plate of food faster than was probably wise. If he hadn't eaten much in a month as T'Challa said, the more logical thing to do would be to eat in slow increments to make sure that he wouldn't make himself sick.

And yet, even as Bucky utterly demolished the chicken and crammed the sides into his mouth, he felt no stomach pain as a result—no nausea, no nothing. It was like no time had passed at all since the last time he'd eaten.

“Thank you,” Bucky said as he finished off the chicken, wiped his mouth, and took a long swig of water. “You're _sure_ that this stuff won't trap me? Like, _sure-_sure?”

“I have a feeling Steven would not appreciate me trapping you here,” T'Challa pointed out dryly. “There are easier ways to do that than taking you through the Three Trials.”

“True,” Bucky admitted as he handed back the empty platter, and T'Challa placed it in the fire, which caused it to immediately disappear rather than burn up, which made Bucky wonder if it was more of a portal than some kind of campfire, though he couldn't be certain either way.

“Do you feel ready to continue, or do you need to rest?” T'Challa asked mildly, tilting his head to one side, his expression calculating, almost like he was trying to remember how much recovery time a human would need before they moved on.

Bucky couldn't decide whether he should be offended by that or not. Was T'Challa being considerate, or judgemental? After all, Bucky was _far _from some sort of little wilting flower—he could take a little bodily punishment. Sure, he'd complain, but he'd still get it done.

However, Bucky got the distinct impression that T'Challa didn't spend much time around humans, so maybe his question wasn't supposed to be taken negatively.

“I guess there'll be no pit stops in the Desert, huh?” Bucky tried to joke, but T'Challa's expression didn't change.

“No,” he said seriously. “It is a trial, not a vacation.”

Bucky stood up, and stretched. When he looked down at himself, he still looked to be mostly skin and bone, save for his rounded, decidedly overfilled stomach. Despite how weird he looked, he felt normal—he didn't feel dizzy or sleepy, which he probably should have been after everything that had happened, and the fact that he apparently hadn't slept in a month.

_I also probably shouldn't've been able to inhale that feast either, but I still don't feel sick, _Bucky mused as he paced, and took the moment to consult his remaining rations. He still had about half of his food, so he wouldn't be going into the desert empty-handed, and he still had the water bottle from T'Challa.

“Will it be like before?” Bucky asked, “will you mysteriously disappear the second I get into the desert?”

“Yes,” T'Challa replied as he nodded his head. “It is your trial, Bucky, not mine.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed with a grimace. He didn't like it, but it made sense. T'Challa was already doing Steve a favour by accompanying Bucky on his journey, and there wasn't much reason to put himself in _more _danger. “What do I have to do for this one?”

“This one is very simple—follow the spirit,” T'Challa explained even as Bucky continued to pace, while the fairy remained seated by the fire. Bucky now felt too energized to sit, and kept pacing while T'Challa explained, “I will summon a spirit guide for you, and they will accompany you through the desert. You cannot rest, and you cannot lose them. If you lose sight of them, you will end up wandering the desert until you die. And like the Woods, the Desert distorts time. An hour here will feel like a hundred years within the confines of the Haunted Desert.”

“Great,” Bucky replied with a sarcastic groan, and cast a glance towards the Desert again. “Any hints? I mean, stuff I should watch out for?”

Predictably, T'Challa didn't respond, but continued to gaze at Bucky, as though he was waiting for him to be ready.

_I should've expected that, _Bucky thought as he shrugged helplessly at T'Challa, and waved at him to do his summoning...thing.

If he was being honest with himself, Bucky expected that a ritual designed to summon a ghost would be something sort of involved, maybe with crystals and chanting or something, but all T'Challa did was turn his gaze towards the vast, rocky desert before he called out, “_Spirit, come forth._”

The rocky ground before them split with a crack like a gunshot, making Bucky jump and duck before he even realised what he was doing. The stones and dirt seemed to groan as the crevice opened wider, and Bucky stepped back in alarm, not entirely sure what was happening, even as T'Challa appeared completely calm, like this was somehow _normal_.

Then, to Bucky's utter shock, a full skeleton of some kind of big cat climbed out of the ground.

Bucky had no _clue _how it was even holding together. Its bones rattled like something out of a Tim Burton movie, and it seemed to be panting, even though it _clearly _had no lungs. Was this some kind of wildly elaborate _joke_?

“Master called?” the cat queried in a distinctly masculine as it bowed low to T'Challa, and the fairy smiled as he reached out to pat the cat's skull like a talking skeleton was a perfectly normal thing to witness. “How may I be of service?”

“Kami,” T'Challa said, “it is good to see you again, my old friend. I have a faeling who is taking part in the Three Trials. I was hoping you might lead him through the Desert safely.”

“The white one?” the cat-skeleton asked as it turned, jaws open as it gazed at Bucky, who flushed at the moniker, though he truthfully had no idea how to take it.

“Yes,” T'Challa replied for Bucky, smiling like he found the remark amusing. “He is strong. He will be able to keep up with you at your most swift.”

“Um, I hope...uh...that I can actually keep up with you,” Bucky interjected awkwardly, having no _clue _how to speak politely to the skeleton of a big dead cat, and he felt himself blush again as both the cat and T'Challa regarded him like a stupid kid who had interrupted the grown-ups' talk.

“You will if you wish to continue your trek, white one,” the cat said. “I am Kami. I was T'Challa's familiar in life; a black panther. Now in death, I shall escort you.”

“Thank you,” Bucky offered, bowing his head forward in a nod, which he hoped would be viewed as a sign of respect. “I...um...I appreciate you escorting me through the Desert.”

“_Ha! A good one!_” Kami cried, the sudden shout so loud and so sharp that it made Bucky jump. “Come, boy. The sooner we begin our trek, the sooner we can finish it.”

The skeleton-panther bounded towards the desert, and with a flash of light, he vanished.

Bucky yelped and raced after him, turning to wave goodbye to T'Challa as he went, fervently hoping that this would not be the last time he saw him.

In response, T'Challa nodded, smirking a little as he watched Bucky go.

At the uttermost edge of the Desert, Bucky expected to feel something, maybe a tingly feeling from that flash that seemed to have consumed his guide. Like with the woods however, as Bucky stepped over the boundary the edge the border seemed to just vanish, and he found himself in the very middle of the desert.

Bucky didn't dawdle, and he scanned the terrain for his guide. It wasn't a sandy desert, but rocky, with tall, narrow pillars of stone seemingly worn away by the wind that whistled its way through it. The air was hot, like Bucky had put his face in front of a hair dryer, and the ground was parched and cracked, with tiny wisps of skeletal weeds poking out of the ground, just barely clinging to life.

The wind wound down for a moment, and Bucky heard a familiar xylophone-like clattering of bone. He followed the sound, and came upon Kami, who smirked as he straightened up from his hiding place behind a fallen boulder. Admittedly, Bucky didn't know _how _the skeleton could _smirk_ at him, but in a strange sort of way, he just knew that he _was_.

“Very good,” Kami said. “You have keen senses, white one—like a wolf.”

“You can stop calling me white one any time you like,” Bucky countered as he flushed again. He didn't really know why, but he felt a distinct sense of unease whenever the spirit called him that.

“Not to worry,” Kami retorted as he began to weave through the stone pillars, and Bucky was quick to follow. “If we dawdle too long in here, you shall soon become the _red _one.”

Bucky grumbled under his breath, and Kami began to laugh heartily as he led him on.

~*~

Quickly, Bucky discovered precisely _why _he'd need a guide to cross the Desert.

Unlike the Whispering Woods, which, apart from the darkness, the monsters, and whatever else had occupied that hellscape, it had been largely in a straight line.

The Haunted Desert on the other hand was a literal maze of pillars of rock that seemed to be endless, stretching in every direction like the bones of a hedge labyrinth. Without a guide, Bucky would have no chance of figuring out which way he needed to go.

“This was once a mountain range,” Kami explained as he walked at what appeared to be a leisurely pace, though Bucky kept having to almost run in order to keep up. “The Howling came—a terrible cursed wind. Over hundreds of years, it wore the stone away to what you see now. Once all the minerals were consumed, the Howling moved on, looking for more mountains to eat. Now, normal winds do the work, wearing away the stone like an axe upon the trunk of a tree. It is only a matter of time before it all collapses, and all you see before you is reduced to rubble.”

“Sounds...nice,” Bucky offered, at a loss for what else he _could _say in response to that, and Kami chuckled softly.

“Come, White Wolf.”

~*~

It was tough work following Kami through the desert. Often, Bucky thought it felt more like a really hot and dry forest, considering the way the pillars clustered together like trees. Kami warned him that if he stopped walking at any time, he would fail the trial. By now, Bucky knew that _fail _was a euphemism for _death_, and he forced himself to keep going.

Luckily, it seemed as though this particular trial was at least devoid of any creepy monsters. Bucky was having a hard enough time remembering to drink water and eat food while maintaining the brisk walking pace Kami set. His skin was hot and already starting to flush red, but Bucky didn't dare pour water on himself, as much as he wanted to—he knew that pouring water on himself would only worsen the sunburns, not make them better.

As an upside, at least the bottle T'Challa gave him never seemed to empty. It had the weight of a full water bottle, and no matter how much Bucky drank, it never got any lighter.

The only downside to the overabundance of water meant that he was sweating almost continually. The sweat that poured off him stung his injuries from the thing in the woods, and Bucky stumbled as he tried to keep walking and tie up his hair simultaneously, no longer caring if it had been shading his neck from the unforgiving sun—it was just _too hot._

_Just keep going, _Bucky told himself in between gasps of breath as he followed Kami. _When you get home, it'll probably be winter, and you can make snow angels buck-naked with Steve in the garden._

Bucky giggled at the mental image, and it cheered him up enough for him to jog a few paces in order to catch up with his guide.

~*~

After hours of walking with no breaks, Bucky knew that he was now entirely burnt to a crisp.

Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what he could do about it one way or the other. It wasn't like he'd brought sunscreen with him—winter clothes, yes, but not sunscreen.

_Stupid._

Thanks to his skin tone, he was never one who was overly susceptible to burns; in small increments, anyway. This desert was something entirely different, but at the very least the pillars of stone offered a slight reprieve from the sun, though hardly enough to stop the inevitable.

His skin was _red_, like a lobster. It had blistered in a few places, and the bits of his shirt that touched his skin was nothing short of agony. Bucky wanted to cry from how much it hurt, but he was so busy dragging himself along behind Kami that he didn't have time to stop and complain.

Instead, Bucky drank his water and tried to focus on the landscape rather than the state of his skin. He hoped that when—or _if—_he made it through this trial, T'Challa would be willing to help tend to his wounds before they moved on.

Bucky staggered, and bumped his arm against one of the stone peaks. It shuddered ominously, but didn't fall, which was lucky as Bucky felt like his entire arm had suddenly been dipped in acid.

He gasped sharply as he looked down, half-expecting to see his skin plagued by a colony of fire ants, only to realize that the roughened stone had popped a few of the blisters.

Grimacing, Bucky kept walking while he dug into his backpack with shaky hands and pulled out his meagre first-aid kit. After smearing the burst blisters with antibacterial cream, he wound a gauze bandage around his bicep, wincing as the cloth stung his inflamed skin. It might've been overkill for a few popped blisters, but he didn't want to take any chances out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Are you in pain, Red Wolf?” Kami asked, and Bucky glared at the skeletal form of the panther, which caused him to chuckle.

“You're _hilarious_,” Bucky retorted dryly. “Why couldn't I get a spirit guide without a sense of humour, huh?”

“Oh, they're no fun,” Kami replied as he bounded a few paces forward, and Bucky whined as he struggled to keep up. It felt like he'd been walking for _weeks_. Beyond the fact that he wasn't sure how that was possible without sleep or much food, it was difficult to tell when it seemed like the Desert sun never set. “Besides, we are almost at the trial.”

“_What?!”_

Bucky's high, incredulous shriek seemed to echo out in every direction, though Kami appeared entirely unfazed by the sound of it. He continued to walk, unruffled, while he pointed his skull straight ahead of them.

“Do you see it, Bucky?” Kami asked, cutting Bucky off before he really started to rant about this supposed _fake trial_, and he saw...was that a lake?

Bucky blinked hard. The pillars of stone were starting to thin, and ahead of them seemed to be a crack upon the open stone, like a tear in the skin of the earth. Inside it was a collection of pristine, still water, which seemed to perfectly mirror the sky above it, down to the last detail.

Kami stopped walking, and Bucky slowed his pace, uncertain if he was supposed to stop. When nothing bad happened, he allowed his movements to still and Kami nodded, almost in approval.

“The mirror will show you your future, if you manage to rescue Steven,” Kami explained. “Not all positive acts lead to a positive outcome. Will you still rescue him if you know the truth?”

“What?” Bucky choked out, and opened and closed his mouth several times, before he stammered, “I...I _can't _leave Steve in that Storm Cage thing! He'd be in there for a _thousand_ years. By the time he got out...” Bucky trailed off, and shuddered. “How could I leave him behind like that, when I have the power to save him?”

“Look into the mirror, and see.”

Bucky gazed at Kami one last time, but the skeletal expression upon the panther's skull did not change. Bucky took a deep breath, and turned his focus back to the mirror.

It wasn't round, but jagged and threatening-looking. Even as Bucky began to hesitantly step closer, it did not change its appearance in any way. It was still calm, still reflective, and should have felt tranquil, but instead Bucky only felt a distinct sense of foreboding as he approached it.

The parallel between his trial and a certain trilogy of famous novels was not lost on Bucky as he got closer, and as he knelt on the bank of the mirrored water, he hoped that he would come out of this a little better than Frodo Baggins had.

Taking one last breath to steel himself, Bucky tilted himself over the water's edge, and gazed into its depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: According to my Character Naming book, Kami in this context means “Desert”. Unfortunately, because my sourcebook was written by someone who seems to think that Africa is one big country, it did not clarify which culture or country this name comes from.


	18. Into the Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for October 4th. Enjoy!

Chapter Eighteen – Into the Mirror

For a moment, nothing happened.

Bucky held his breath, staring hard into the lake, but all he could see was the rippling blue of water's the surface.

Slowly it began to ripple, and something appeared in the water. It was too small to see, and Bucky tilted over the edge of the bank in his attempt to see it.

Bucky let out a breath as he got nearer to the water, grunting as he tried to see into its depths. His short exhale caused the surface to ripple, but even when his breathing evened out, the lake continued to move. It was slow at first, the simple ripple continuing even when there was nothing Bucky could see that was causing it. As the seconds passed, the tremors got stronger until the water was trembling almost violently, and no longer even in the realm of calm.

Before Bucky had a chance to fully absorb this new development, he let out a cry as a sudden wave rose up seemingly out of nowhere, and closed around him. Bucky screamed, a large stream of bubbles escaping out of his mouth as he was plunged downwards and into the lake, like the water was a great beast who had just swallowed him whole.

The water dragged him downwards, deeper and deeper into the pitch-darkness of its depths, he falling endlessly like the lake had no bottom. Bucky screamed the whole way down, too alarmed to even pause to notice how he never ran out of breath, nor felt the pressure-pain of deep water.

Suddenly, Bucky fell on something hard and dry, and he grunted as he landed.

The abrupt appearance of a bright light made it a little hard for Bucky to see at first, and he rubbed his eyes, startled to find that he was bone-dry, like he'd never been near a lake to begin with. As his eyes began to clear, he found that he was on a picturesque sandy beach, and the hard thing he'd landed on was an overlarge boulder close to the edge of the crystal-blue water. He was surrounded by seals, and as he looked up, he only saw the sun suspended in a perfectly clear blue sky, not the bottom (or surface?) of the lake that he'd fallen into.

“What the _hell _is going on?” Bucky grumbled as he stood up on unsteady legs, and the seals didn't react to his sudden movement whatsoever. As he gazed across the beach, he realized that he wasn't alone. In fact, the figure on the beach looked _familiar..._

It was then that Bucky realised it, and he felt it like a jolt through his body.

He was seeing _himself _on the beach.

Bucky raced to the sand, running over to himself, hoping that _this _Bucky might know more than he did. He was so preoccupied in his running that he didn't even notice how he left no footprints in the sand, nor how his severe sunburns weren't hurting him anymore. All he truly wanted was to get _out _of here.

“Hey, _hey! _You—I mean, me, _hey!_”

Bucky screamed and waved his arms, but for some strange reason, the other Bucky ignored him. Bucky kept running, hoping maybe that the other Bucky was distracted, until he got close—_too_ close, in fact.

Bucky tried to stagger to a stop, but he was going to fast, and ran right _through _the other Bucky, like he was a ghost, and Bucky blanched at this sudden—horrible—notion.

“Am I dead?” Bucky demanded in a panic as he whirled around to stare at the other Bucky. “Am—am I dead?!”

The other Bucky didn't respond, and in fact didn't seem to even notice Bucky at all. He just kept staring out into the sea with a stupid little smile on his face, like he was waiting for something.

Bucky wasn't sure what he could be waiting for. When he gazed out at the sea, all he saw was blue all the way to the horizon, not counting the tiny speck of an island somewhere in the distance.

Bucky continued to pace, ignoring the other Bucky as he tried to figure out what to do. Was he _really _dead? Was T'Challa just some sort of trickster who got off on messing with humans? Or was this really part of the trial?

Bucky cast another glance towards the sea, and blinked. Was the island getting _closer?_

Bucky squinted for a moment, then his eyes widened.

It wasn't an island.

It was _people_.

_Maybe I need glasses, _Bucky mused with a slightly hysterical giggle, not even the least bit surprised that the people appeared to be walking on the water. It was simply another thing on the long list of weird things in Otherworld that Bucky had just come to expect around this place. As a result, he felt no surprise whatsoever to see people actually _walking on water_.

Slowly, it dawned on Bucky what this must be, and he smiled.

Instead of freaking out _more_, Bucky sat down on the sand and crossed his legs.

He didn't want to miss this.

~*~

It seemed to take much less time than Bucky would have expected for the figures to make it to the beach. He knew that time was strange in Otherworld, but a trek that should have taken the better part of a day seemed to take less than an hour to complete, even with Steve leaning heavily on the man who was accompanying him—a black man in golden armour who Bucky did not recognize, but he expected to meet soon enough.

However, this other man was _hardly _the focus of Bucky's attention at the present moment.

“_Steve..._” the other Bucky said, sounding like he might be close to tears, and Bucky blushed on the other Bucky's behalf. Did he _really _sound that weepy when Steve was involved?

Bucky watched with a gnawing sort of longing in the pit of his stomach as the other Bucky raced into the shallows and ran to Steve, the pair falling into the water in a tight embrace.

Before Bucky could really fathom what he was seeing, the scene seemed to dissolve around him. He found himself suspended in that familiar endless black for a moment before his feet found solid ground again. This time, he was outside his house. When he ventured through the wall in a very ghost-like way (which, admittedly, was still freaking him out) he found the other Bucky up in his bedroom with Steve, and he was carefully tending to Steve's wounds.

“Bucky, you don't need to do that...” Steve croaked out, and winced when Bucky dabbed something onto one of the burn marks on his chest.

“Shut up, Steve,” the other Bucky retorted sweetly. “You're home now, no wishes to fuck things up between us again, that is, unless you get an infection and _die—_”

The scene collapsed again, much faster this time, and as it reformed around him, Bucky saw himself and Darcy kneeling in the middle of the road that led to town, using hammers and chisels to crack the tarmac in the dead of night. Meanwhile, Steve stood off to one side and looked both hopeful and apprehensive as he watched them work. It looked like they'd been at it for a while, and it seemed to be slow-going, given how sweat-soaked the other Bucky appeared.

“Hang on, no touchie, I don't want you to burn yourself,” Darcy commanded as she tossed aside chunks of the road, and rooted around in the dirt for a moment before she tugged out a long iron rod with a triumphant shout of glee.

Beaming from ear to ear, the other Bucky leapt to his feet and raced over to Steve, crushing their lips together before he said, “welcome home, baby.”

The scenes came faster. The other Bucky convincing Steve to show himself to his friends, Steve learning how to be human and not use his magic in front of Bucky's friends who weren't as aware of his background, Steve showing Bucky the less life-threatening parts of Otherworld...

But mostly, it seemed to show Bucky slowly, gradually getting older, while Steve remained young.

All at once, Bucky understood what the mirror was trying to show him—that irreparable divide between human and fairy. Bucky knew that he was part fairy now, this was true, and based on what he was seeing, his lifespan was significantly longer than a human's. His friends seemed to get older much faster than him, but regardless he still aged, given enough time.

He knew then what the true curse of falling in love with a fairy was—Bucky could grow old with Steve, but Steve could not grow old with him.

Steve would watch Bucky wither, and die.

Bucky felt sick as he watched the scenes play out, now only centred around one place—his grave.

There had been no children; no future generations to visit him.

There was only Steve, dressed in black armour, who knelt by Bucky's grave and wept.

It broke Bucky's heart as he watched the years consume his gravestone, hundreds of years wearing away the stone until his name was barely visible, while Steve remained as youthful as ever.

Occasionally, groups of teens would enter the long since abandoned cemetery, and Steve would lash out at them like a vicious animal if they tried to touch Bucky's grave. The teenagers would shriek and run, clearly unable to see Steve, but they seemed to know he was there all the same as he conjured winds or pushed them down, before they would scramble to their feet and take off while they shouted about ghosts.

Bucky sat, tears streaking his cheeks as he watched Steve mourn for him, an eternal damnation that Bucky had not bargained for. If he stayed with Steve, Steve would be left broken-hearted forever.

“_Now you see,” _a voice hissed in his ear, the sudden presence of it causing Bucky to jump and let out a tiny yelp of fright, even as the future Steve continued to weep at his grave. _“If you save him now, you will curse him forever. Your hooks are in his heart, faeling, and it shall never let go.”_

Bucky whipped his head around, but he didn't see anything. The scene of Steve vanished, and Bucky was swallowed in darkness again.

“If he's already in love with me, then this future will happen no matter what,” Bucky filled in, his voice shaking slightly as he continued to try and find the source of the voice. “If that's the case, then I can't just leave him in his prison—”

“_Of course you can, faeling,” _the voice crooned, the sound swirling around him like the coils of a deadly snake. _“Leave now, admit defeat, and you can return home safely. Steven will never even know you were here.”_

“He'd never even know I tried to save him, you mean,” Bucky filled in as he glared into the darkness. It was so absolute that he couldn't even hope to see what was speaking to him, and yet somehow he just _knew_ that it was the spirit of the mirror who was trying to convince him to give up on his quest.

“_And in one thousand years, he will have assumed that you've forgotten him, and move on,” _the voice whispered into his ear. The promise of Steve being with anyone else made Bucky feel positively _sick_, but if what he saw in the mirror was true, _could _he condemn Steve to such a miserable existence after his death?

“Wait,” Bucky interjected, his eyes narrowing suspiciously into the dark, “you said...before, you said that _my hooks were in his heart_. And _now_ you're saying that he'll just...get over it. Which is it?”

The thing in the dark hissed, a soft sound of frustration that made Bucky smile a little. That was probably a good sign.

“_The future is never absolute, faeling,” _it hissed. _“If you leave now, you lessen the chance for Steven's feelings to deepen—you shall save him from future torment. Isn't that what you want?”_

“Yeah, but I'd still be leaving him in some sort of screwed-up prison for a thousand years,” Bucky countered. “I couldn't do that to him. _Regular _prison is hard enough, but when it's called something like _storm cage?_ That sounds even _worse!” _

Bucky paused, and took a deep breath. His feelings were getting away from him much faster than he would have liked to admit; the idea of leaving Steve behind hurt too much to put into words. “I..._can't_ just abandon him—I love him.”

“_But do you love him selfishly, or with abandon, faeling?” _the thing hissed, as though it was utterly unfazed by Bucky's proclamation. “_Do you love him enough to do what is right?”_

“The _right _thing to do is save him!” Bucky insisted, his voice escaping him just shy of a yell. “We can work out all the details later. I _won't _leave Steve to rot in some cell!”

Suddenly, a screeching noise filled the space around him like a microphone's feedback, but louder. Bucky yelped as he clapped his hands to his ears, and he felt flat earth beneath his feet for only a moment before it began to churn like the sudden onset of a violent earthquake. His body was lanced with a sudden fatigue, muscle pain, and the ache of his sunburns, as though his body only just recalled their presence. Bucky yelled, half in fear, half in pain as he was suddenly pitched forward, out of the dark, and into the harsh light of day.

Bucky looked up, just long enough to see T'Challa smirking down at him, before the last of his strength faded, and he passed out.

~*~

Bucky woke slowly. His body ached, but less than he had expected it to. The air felt cool, no longer stiflingly hot, and he could hear the crackle and pop of a campfire from somewhere nearby.

When he managed to crack his eyes open, he saw T'Challa tending to another one of his blue fires, and he was sipping something from a wooden cup. Bucky returned his gaze to himself, and saw that his arms and hands had been wrapped up in some kind of cloth bandage that was tinted a faint blue, but instead of hurting his burns from the friction, whatever medicine was on the cloth felt _amazing_ against his sunburnt skin.

“Don't move, you are still healing,” T'Challa said without turning his gaze away from the crackling flames.

“What happened?” Bucky managed to rasp, “where's Kami?”

“He has returned to the Grey Twilight; his job was done,” T'Challa explained before he took another sip of his drink. “The lake released you at the edge of the desert. I applied an Ice Flower extract to your burns; it will help them heal faster.”

“How long do I have to stay like this?” Bucky asked, even as he felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. He'd wanted to thank Kami for all his help; he never would have made it without him. He could assume that by Grey Twilight, T'Challa meant the world of the dead, which more or less confirmed that he wouldn't see the creature again.

“A few hours should suffice. I applied an Ice Flower salve to your face and neck as well; it should be more comfortable than more bandages. If you wish to eat right away, I will need to help you.”

Bucky made a face at the notion of T'Challa _helping _him eat. Unlike when Steve did it, which was hot and a lot of fun, he couldn't picture it like that with his companion—_friend?_ Instead, he shook his head while he asked, “um...how come you didn't tell me about that mirror-lake-thing?”

“It is part of the trial,” T'Challa explained simply in between sips of his drink. “If you were warned in advance, you would have had time to formulate responses. This way, the spirit can sense your true feelings.”

“Is everything I saw real?”

T'Challa eyed him for a long, uninterrupted moment. He didn't speak as he gazed at Bucky, his expression calculative, and looked to Bucky less like he was looking for some sort of explanation, and more like he was trying to decide the best way to phrase what he was thinking.

“In a way...yes,” T'Challa said at last, and Bucky dropped his gaze in disappointment. “The mirror is distorted, however. It only wants to show you the terrible parts of your future, and intends to give you a reason to turn away from your goal. Every future bears some hardship, but so too does it bear joy. Precious few fates are so steeped in darkness that there is no light to guide the way.”

“So, that means...” Bucky trailed off, and shook his head. He didn't know if he wanted to share what he'd seen.

For the next few hours the pair sat in silence, with T'Challa coming over occasionally to check Bucky's bandages. Privately, Bucky was glad for the break—even though it was only his arms, neck, and head that had been burned, his legs were aching from all the walking. T'Challa rolled up Bucky's jeans without asking first and massaged some other kind of cream into his calves which helped with the pain, so much so that he decided against complaining about T'Challa not asking first. As he tended to Bucky's wounds, he drifted in and out of sleep while he waited for his body to heal.

Some time later, around what appeared to be dawn, Bucky woke up to discover that he no longer felt any pain in his arms. He glanced down at himself and found that the bandages were still in place, but when he flexed his fingers experimentally inside the mitten-like bandages, he discovered that his arms felt like they'd gone completely back to normal.

“Good, you're awake.”

The sudden voice caused Bucky to jump, in particular when he hadn't noticed T'Challa approach him. He ignored Bucky's response as he unwound the bandages to check him arms, then with a nod of approval, he snapped his fingers once, making them vanish.

His arms were still a little pink, but a healthy pink, rather than the angry lobster red of the burn, and all his burn blisters seemed to be gone. He reached up to touch his face and neck, and discovered that the burns there were healed as well.

“Thanks,” Bucky said awkwardly, not completely sure how to appropriately show his gratitude to T'Challa for taking care of him, and the man offered him a small, rare smile.

“Eat,” T'Challa said in response, flicking his wrist and immediately conjuring a huge platter of food, including roasted vegetables, a medium-rare steak, and crusty bread rolls, along with a thick pat of butter.

Mouth watering, Bucky happily accepted the plate and dug in. Like the incident with the chicken, Bucky utterly demolished the plate, losing track of how much he consumed, given that the plate refilled itself every time Bucky finished something. He only stopped when he felt legitimately full, then guzzled what felt like an entire lake's worth of water from the bottle T'Challa had given him earlier.

“Thanks,” Bucky said with a long sigh as he held out the platter to T'Challa, and with another casual wave of his hand, he made it disappear.

“Do all humans eat like you do?”

“What d'you mean?” Bucky asked as he lay down near the fire, and when he looked at his companion properly, he realized that T'Challa was regarding him with a distinct look of distaste, like Bucky had shit himself in public or something.

“Do all humans eat like a tornado swallowing a farm house,” T'Challa said bluntly, and Bucky snorted.

“I was hungry, all right? And besides, I'm pretty sure every human on earth eats more politely than me.”

“That's an encouraging thought,” T'Challa said, his tone almost teasing, and Bucky grinned.

They sat in silence for a little while. With Bucky too full to move, he just dozed while the day passed them by. Luckily, T'Challa seemed to be in no hurry to get Bucky to the next trial, and Bucky felt no need to rush him as he eagerly took the time to rest up in preparation for whatever would come next.

_Just one more,_ Bucky thought as he drifted off to sleep. _Just one more before I can see Steve again..._

Bucky woke at dusk, and he felt somewhere in the realm of normal again, which made for a nice change. His back didn't even hurt from sleeping on the ground all day, which was something of a minor miracle, considering how finicky his back could be regarding sleeping arrangements.

His eyes blearily took in the scene around him, and with an unpleasant jolt in the pit of his stomach, he noticed that T'Challa was packing up.

“Time to go?” Bucky asked groggily as he sat up, and rubbed his eyes. T'Challa nodded curtly.

“The Lowlands are a treacherous place, and I will be accompanying you for your final trial. You won't be able to find your way without a guide.”

Bucky didn't find this particular fact all that encouraging, but he thanked T'Challa regardless, and got to his feet. He drank from the clay bottle one more time before he packed it into his backpack, which was now so beat-up it looked to be several years old, instead of a few months old.

“What are The Lowlands, anyway?” Bucky asked curiously as they began to walk, thankfully, away from the desert. “Is it like low...land?”

“It is a series of narrow underground caverns,” T'Challa supplied as he rolled his eyes at Bucky's stupid guess. “Very dark, very oppressive, and many creatures there have never seen the light of day. It is not a place for the faint of heart.”

Bucky felt his stomach roil a little, and he fought back a shiver. He wasn't the biggest fan of confined spaces, but he knew that he had to do it if he wanted to get to Steve.

Unfortunately, this realization didn't make him like the idea of going underground any better.

T'Challa led him away from their campsite and down a narrow mountain path. Truthfully, Bucky hadn't even noticed they'd been on a mountain, but he chalked that up to the fact that he'd been a _bit _wrung-out by his previous trial.

In the growing dark it was hard to tell what the path they were taking looked like, but under Bucky's feet it felt like it could have been a set of stairs hewn out of the rock at one time, but years beyond count had smoothed it into a mostly flat surface. Around them brown and black mountain goats climbed the craggy edges effortlessly, their sharp bleats breaking the silence so sharply that it often caused Bucky to jump.

As with his other walking adventures of late, Bucky tried to count his steps to see how far they were going, but he kept losing his place. The stupid goats didn't help, their abrupt and loud vocalizations always managing to startle him out of his rhythm, and he had to start counting all over again.

Eventually, the pathway began to form true stairs again. The edges were rounded slightly and littered with patches of hardy weeds and mountainous debris. The dark night made it difficult for Bucky to see where he was stepping, and when he paused to grab a flashlight, predictably, it refused to work.

_So much for a shortcut in the whole trial thing, _Bucky thought as he packed the light back into his bag regretfully, and did his best to follow the silhouette of T'Challa just ahead of him.

“We're here.”

T'Challa spoke the words suddenly, and not soon enough for Bucky to stop in a reasonable amount of time. As a result, he stumbled into T'Challa's back. The fairy let out an annoyed grunt, but didn't comment on it as he pointed ahead of him to a black spot on the mountainside.

The entrance to the third trial was like a pool of ink that had been splashed onto the rock. It looked so dark that for a moment Bucky wanted to turn tail and bolt. It belched hot, humid air into their faces that smelled of rotten eggs and metal, and Bucky choked as he tugged his shirt up over his nose and mouth.

“This is the entrance to the Third Trial,” T'Challa said as his body shrunk, and Bucky watched him once more take the form of a black cat. “This form will aid me in leading you. Are you ready?”

Bucky _desperately _wanted to say no, to insist that he did _not _want to go in there, but what could he do, if he couldn't rescue Steve? This whole life-and-death adventure would be a complete waste if he gave up now.

He _had _to go in there.

“Yeah,” Bucky rasped, “let's go.”

With T'Challa's long tail pointed high into the air, he led Bucky into the bowels of the earth, and into his third and final trial.


	19. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for October 18th, enjoy!
> 
> **Content Warning: Claustrophobia, Violence, Blood**

Chapter Nineteen – In the Dark

The moment Bucky stepped into the cave, he was plunged into a deep, all-encompassing dark. It wasn't like nighttime in his bedroom, or even that night in the woods near his house. In here, there were no stars or moon to light his way, and no street lamps to filter in through his curtains. It was completely pitch black.

Bucky fumbled with his bag, letting out a slow breath when he found his flashlight, and to his amazement, he discovered that it actually _worked_. T'Challa said nothing about Bucky's use of it, which he hoped meant it was okay, and not considered cheating on his trials. After all, he needed to see where he was going, didn't he?

Bucky flicked the flashlight's beam around the cavern just to see the space he found himself in, though by and large it didn't look all that remarkable. It looked like every cave he'd ever seen in nature documentaries or in movies, save for the fact that it was a lot more _wet _than he'd expected. The air was hot and humid, and there was a slight sheen on every bit of stone he could see, like the whole place had been doused with water.

“Hurry up,” T'Challa said when Bucky hadn't moved. “We can't stay in one place for long.”

T'Challa led Bucky down a twisting cavern within the cave, which seemed to narrow as they pressed on. He didn't speak, and when Bucky tried to fill the silence with questions or comments, T'Challa would hiss at him to be quiet.

Bucky could guess that not talking was the smart thing to do. After all, he had no _clue _what could be down here, and the last thing he wanted was to lure anything to them. Despite this knowledge, it didn't exactly make the trial any easier. The rotten eggs scent coming from the cave was making him feel nauseous, and every soft drip from the ceiling's stalactites felt impossibly loud in the silence around them.

The cave, like the desert, seemed to be lifeless. Based on T'Challa's dire warnings to be quiet, Bucky could surmise that that was probably not true. There definitely were living things in here, and being loud would only draw them out, which Bucky was pretty keen to avoid.. Regardless, the stillness inside the cave was deeply unsettling, and if he was being honest with himself, Bucky almost _wanted_ something to happen.

And then, T'Challa turned away from the main tunnel, and slipped through an unnervingly small hole.

“Hey, T'Challa!” Bucky hissed, but even his whisper felt impossibly loud as it echoed all around him. “Where are you going?”

“I am leading you through the tunnels,” T'Challa replied smoothly from inside his hidey-hole. “Follow me.”

“Are you _kidding?_ There's no way I can fit through there!”

“You will, if you wish to see Steven again,” T'Challa shot back, and Bucky let out a long whine. This was gonna _suck._

Bucky shed his backpack and pressed it through the hole, though when he crouched down to do so he discovered that it wasn't a hole, but a short, narrow tunnel. He thought he was going to be sick at the idea of going through there. What if he got stuck?

Unfortunately, T'Challa didn't seem to be in the mood to help him beyond dragging the backpack out of the way, then promptly sat down and stared at him, as though he was waiting for Bucky to get moving.

Bucky let out a long breath to steady himself, then transferred his flashlight to his mouth, holding it steady with his teeth as he crawled into the hole like a diver, arms extended and stomach sucked in while he _prayed _that he was skinny enough to wriggle through.

As predicted, it completely _sucked_.

As Bucky squeezed through the narrow tunnel of rock, barely wide enough to fit through, his panic seemed to spike, making him want to thrash and flail in order to escape. The whole world was compressed on top of him, and if something gave way in that moment, he would be trapped.

That knowledge didn't exactly help him move faster, and actually made him want to freeze in place. It was confusing, the feeling of wanting to stop and _needing _to go on at the same time, and he clawed at the stone as he dragged himself through, at last making it to the next cavern where he crumpled into a heap on the ground, then promptly began to hyperventilate.

“That... that _sucked,_” Bucky gasped out as he shifted his gaze to the cat, who was _clearly _smirking at him as though T'Challa somehow found Bucky's reaction funny. “_Please _tell me that's the only tight squeeze I have to do.”

“You probably don't want me to answer that,” T'Challa replied smoothly as he turned towards the new cave tunnel, which was, thankfully, even bigger than the last one they'd been in. Unfortunately, that didn't exactly distract Bucky from T'Challa's ominous response.

Fighting back a shiver at the knowledge that he'd have to wriggle through another horrifying tunnel, Bucky shouldered his backpack and picked up his flashlight before he reluctantly followed T'Challa deeper into the cavern.

For the next few hours, it was much of the same. Bucky was forced to squeeze through a number of narrow tunnels that made him freak out and hyperventilate, and he'd always need a minute to recover no matter how many times he did it. It was a small blessing that the sulphuric smell seemed to fade away the deeper they went, but it was replaced by some sort of metallic scent, though he couldn't really identify it beyond that.

What was possibly worse was the occasional scuttling he sometimes heard against the stone walls, like something crawling along behind him with far too many legs. It gave him flashbacks to the Shelob scenes from _Lord of the Rings_, and he really hoped that he wouldn't be expected to fight a giant spider with his bare hands. He honestly couldn't see that ending well, especially given that Bucky hated spiders even more than tight spaces.

And it didn't help that every time Bucky tried to ask T'Challa about it he was told to be quiet. Even his whispering seemed to be too loud for the cat.

The notion that Bucky needed to be absolutely silent wasn't exactly helping his paranoia either. He _knew _that he was hearing something in the dark, and not being able to see whatever it was was making it even harder keep himself from panicking.

Not for the first time, Bucky thought _hard _on his questions of _what _those noises could possibly be, in the vain hope that T'Challa might hear his thoughts the way Steve could. Unfortunately, the cat never reacted, which more or less confirmed to Bucky that reading minds was definitely not one of the fairy's powers.

Which was a bit of a shame, as it would have made it easy to talk without making too much noise.

As Bucky pressed on through the cave, the tight squeezes getting longer and more terrifying, his clothes and skin were effectively torn to shreds by those horrible endeavours. His T-shirt was in tatters, there were huge holes in his jeans, and his exposed skin made it look like he'd lost a fight with a pack of angry cats.

When Bucky thought about it, he couldn't actually decide which was worse—the desert, or the cave.

Truth be told, he liked the cave a _whole lot less,_ but at least he was out of the sun, which was a small mercy. He didn't think he'd be able to handle blisters _and _tight spaces at the same time.

By and large though, the trial seemed to be going fairly well. Bucky was on the cusp of asking T'Challa how much farther they had to go when they came upon yet another uncomfortably tight squeeze. T'Challa headed in ahead of him, and Bucky let out a soft whine at the sight of it. The more of these he did, the less he understood those yahoos who went caving for _fun._

When Bucky wiggled out the other side, he found himself in a huge cavern, the ceiling so high that when Bucky tried to see it with his flashlight, the beam couldn't reach the top. The air was still heavy with moisture, making it hard to breathe, and T'Challa was nowhere in sight.

_What do I do? _Bucky wondered in a panic as he hurried deeper into the expansive cavern. _Do I call for him? T'Challa told me a million times I need to be really quiet, but what if I take the wrong tunnel and get lost?_

Bucky broke into a run, though in the same moment he skidded to a stop when something flashed off the beam from his light. He looked again, and stared.

A sword.

Like in the old Arthurian tales, a longsword was sticking out of a cracked stone directly in the middle of the space.

“Well, I don't think it takes a genius to figure out what I gotta do...” Bucky muttered as he stepped towards the sword, unable to stop himself from grinning at the thought of actually pulling the sword out and being made king, with Steve...as his _queen?_

The idea was so stupid that it made Bucky giggle out loud, but a soft hiss from somewhere in the shadows made him immediately shut his mouth. He whipped his head around, lifting the flashlight up high, but he couldn't see anything.

Bucky turned back towards the sword, but this time he didn't feel in any way distracted by random thoughts or how much he hated caves. His ears were pricked, listening hard for even the softest sound that might indicate there was an actual, tangible _something _in the shadows that had been stalking him and T'Challa for their entire trek through the caverns.

Bucky stopped directly in front of the sword. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't fancy. The handle had some sort of leather wound tightly around it for grip, and it made a large T-shape, utterly unadorned save for some sort of black filigree in the corners of the handle, almost like the blacksmith had started to make it fancy, then got bored not long after starting on it.

As Bucky stood there, a chilling mist began to rise from the stone floor. It didn't look like gas, or some kind of poison (which, in hindsight, Bucky realised was an idiotic observation, given that gas was usually invisible and odourless) but instead it looked like a natural mist one might see in a forest.

It stopped somewhere around Bucky's knees, and as he inched closer to the blade, a soft light began to fill the huge cavern, dousing it in a dull grey light that showed the walls to be oddly reflective, like mirrors, though Bucky couldn't remember them looking like that mere moments before.

If nothing else, it was pretty clear that something was about to happen in that cave. With no T'Challa and the sudden presence of the light, Bucky suspected it was another kind of test. The sword gave Bucky the distinct impression that it was a physical one this time, and he'd need to dig back into his brain, go back to his army days, and remember everything he'd learned about hand-to-hand combat.

Unfortunately, those lessons hadn't exactly covered swordplay.

_Well, how hard could it be? _Bucky wondered as he packed away his flashlight and set aside his bag, just in case he needed to move quickly and unhindered.

Without another thought, he reached out and grabbed hold of the hilt.

Bucky expected to feel something as he tugged the sword out, it sliding from the stone so smoothly that it felt more like it had been embedded in butter. He hoped to at least feel some semblance of confidence, but instead he just felt a niggling sense of fear pooling in his stomach.

When fully released from the stone the longsword felt heavier than he'd expected, and Bucky had to tense his arm to keep it steady. The blade, pointed upwards, extended up past Bucky's head for about a foot, making it feel _much _longer than it truly was.

Unfortunately, Bucky didn't exactly have long to ponder this as another blade came out of nowhere and collided with his, making Bucky yelp in shock and leap away, his arm seeming to vibrate from the blow. When he looked up to see his opponent, he nearly dropped his sword in shock.

He was staring at _himself._

Or a version of himself, at least. It seemed to be a reverse of Bucky, with black hair and grey skin, the whites of its eyes were black and the irises and pupils were white. Its teeth, bared in a wicked, leering grin, were black, and the gums were white. His clothing wasn't a reflection of Bucky at all, but instead he seemed to be wearing some kind of black armour, and black smoke was wafting off him, like a recently blown-out candle.

_Not smoke, _Bucky realized with shock as the Anti-Bucky advanced on him, _shadows._

The Anti-Bucky let a soft, human-like growl, its coal-black teeth still bared, and it lunged at Bucky with its blade raised high.

Not sure what to do, Bucky slashed the blade in a wide arc, but not with enough force, making the opposing blade glance off of Bucky's but not stop its trajectory, and it sliced deep into Bucky's shoulder.

Hissing in pain, Bucky rolled out of the way, only barely managing to keep his arm firmly attached to his body with the act, and he readjusted his grip on the sword, holding it with two hands instead of one, and the redistribution of weight made it feel easier to control, even with his hurt arm.

_'Tis but a scratch, _Bucky thought, and with a slightly manic laugh, he lunged at the Anti-Bucky, who leapt back and melted into the mirrored rock wall, well out of reach.

“That's _cheating!_” Bucky shouted angrily as he watched, mouth agape, as it zipped from mirror to mirror with unnatural speed before it leapt out again at Bucky's back.

Bucky jumped forward in another roll, narrowly missing the end of the Anti-Bucky's blade. Bucky leapt to his feet and turned, slashing with the sword in another wide arc, the sword slicing deep into the armour of his opponent, but not deeply enough to actually cut the thing's skin.

The Anti-Bucky knocked Bucky's blade away with a snarl of anger, and before Bucky could react he jabbed the sword forward, and Bucky yelped as the very tip pierced his stomach.

Bucky knew it probably wasn't deep enough to cause any major damage, especially not in Otherworld, where T'Challa could heal him up in no time, provided he got out of this trial in one piece. However, that didn't mean he wanted to tempt fate, especially when he had no armour of his own to speak of. Clearly, this fight had the chance to get very lethal very fast.

The Anti-Bucky stepped forward, clearly intending to plunge the blade in deeper. Bucky jumped back in the same moment, grimacing as the blade was abruptly yanked from his wound, and the stone floor was dotted with Bucky's blood.

With his left arm stained with blood, and more was soaking into the stomach of his T-shirt. He _needed_ to finish this before the thing managed to land some kind of _real _injury on him.

Unfortunately for Bucky, this messed-up version of himself was just _too fast_, and with another slice, he cut through Bucky's jeans and the blade dug deep into the meat of his leg.

Bucky clenched his teeth as he fought the urge to scream, bringing the blade up, it glancing off the thing's arm and cutting into the armour, then skin, before it jolted to a stop against the bone, making it clear that Bucky hadn't put enough power behind the strike.

Bucky jolted back his blade at the same moment that the Anti-Bucky did, it still grinning wickedly at Bucky, like he thought that he'd already won.

_I can't lose, _Bucky thought as he yanked his blade free, staggered back, and did his best to breathe through the pain. _I have to save Steve, I have to..._

With something not unlike a battle cry, Bucky jabbed the blade forward, gripping the handle tightly with both hands as he aimed for the heart, but the Anti-Bucky dropped into the mist-covered floor as suddenly as one might jump into a pool of water. Before Bucky had even a chance to wonder where the thing had gone, his back exploded in excruciating pain.

Bucky knew at once that the Anti-Bucky had slashed at his back with his sword, cutting him diagonally from shoulder to hip, deeply enough for it to hurt like hell, but not enough to cause him some sort of permanent damage.

With spots beginning to dance across his vision, Bucky whirled around and slashed blindly at the Anti-Bucky, hacking at him more like he was wielding an axe than a sword.

Miraculously, the sword made its mark—sort of. As it cut deeply into the shoulder of the thing, it exploded into a black mist, then reformed again. Bucky let out a curse of frustration, determined to end this before he fainted from a combination of pain and blood loss. As the thing finished shifting itself back into the terrifying iteration of Bucky, this time, he aimed for its neck.

By some stroke of dumb luck, he watched as the blade sank into the thing's neck. With all the strength Bucky could muster, he made sure not to soften the blow, maintaining the momentum of the swing, and he felt the bone crack.

Like some sort of gruesome music box, the head flipped off the thing's shoulder, hanging on by the barest hinge of skin and muscle. In lieu of blood, a huge shadow burst from the thing's neck before it vanished into thin air.

Bucky let out a mad giggle of both joy and relief, but it only lasted for a moment before he sank to his knees, and blacked out.

~*~

When Bucky woke up again, he was on a beach.

It was breezy, the crisp wind cutting through the warm, summery air pleasantly. It was alive with animal sounds, seabirds, seals, and the joyous chatter of dolphins as they broke the surface of the water.

It was nice, so nice in fact that for a moment Bucky worried that he might be dreaming, or hallucinating, but when he sat up and his entire body thrummed in pain, he knew that what he was seeing was probably real.

“Ow,” Bucky groaned as he looked down at himself. His shirt and pants had been removed, leaving him the uncomfortable position of sitting on the beach in nothing but his underwear and shoes. Thick bandages had been wound around his leg, arm, stomach, and torso, making him feel a little bit like a mummy, though it explained why he'd been stripped. After that fight, his clothes were probably _ruined._

“Try not to move,” T'Challa said as he stepped towards Bucky and knelt at his side in order to check on Bucky's various injuries. “The medicines I imbibed in the bandages will speed up your healing, but you will be sore for the next few hours.”

“How did we get out of the cave? Where _are _we?” Bucky croaked as he looked down at himself, suddenly noticing that all the minor scrapes and bruises he'd gotten during his caving adventure appeared to be gone. Aside from the sword wounds, he looked totally fine.

“The site of the fairy guard,” T'Challa explained as he nodded once, presumably deciding that his bandages looked fine. T'Challa sat down on the sand next to Bucky and produced a platter of food and water for him without a word. “He won't come until he is called; until that time, this is an ordinary beach. You should allow your body to heal before we treat with him regardless. His trial, of sorts, won't be physically demanding, but it's best if you enter into it with a clear mind.”

“Which means as few injuries as possible?” Bucky guessed while he picked up a blackberry off the plate, and T'Challa nodded.

“He will challenge you to a series of riddles,” T'Challa filled in, “if you guess all three correctly, he will release Steven to you.”

“Why are you telling me?” Bucky asked curiously as he continued to eat. “You've been pretty quiet about the painful surprises so far during these trials.”

“Some things I can tell you without nullifying the trial,” T'Challa replied simply. “The riddles are common knowledge, and a common practice in these parts in the realm of challenges and deals. I cannot help you, so for that reason I hope you are fairly adept at them.”

“I was pretty good at Hobbit-Level Riddles,” Bucky retorted with a smirk, which caused T'Challa's brow to furrow with confusion. “And I know the right answer if he asks me what he's got in his _pocketses_.”

Bucky laughed to himself, which grew more boisterous than he'd intended when he caught sight of the look of utter bewilderment on his companion's face.

No, Bucky was too relieved by the completion of the third trial to worry about the fourth unofficial trial yet. He had food, he had time to heal, and soon, so very soon, he was going to see Steve again.

Worrying could wait until later.


	20. The Guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for November 1st. Enjoy!
> 
> Note: Going into November, I will also be participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). While I am usually pretty good at balancing everything pretty well, if there are any delays in updating, that would be why. If you want to follow what I am writing about during NaNoWriMo, you can find me at nanowrimo.org/participants/jbankai89.

Chapter Twenty – The Guard

It took Bucky far longer than he would have liked for his wounds from the sword fight to heal.

He lay on the beach in precious little clothing for a full day and night, with T'Challa using his magic to conjure whatever was needed—food, water, blankets—and everything, as it always was in Otherworld, was almost eerily perfect.

Of all the perfect things however, the sky at night was Bucky's favourite part.

Without the light pollution of nearby cities, he could see everything. Swirls of stars, twinkling of distant planets were all above Bucky's head, and he could see all of it. He never thought it was _possible _to see the distant galaxies with such clarity, or the way a planet might glimmer just _a little _differently from the stars around it. It was so breathtaking, so beautiful, and more enthralling than anything Bucky had ever witnessed before.

To Bucky, the only thing that was missing in that perfect moment...was Steve.

Though Bucky didn't say it out loud, he hoped that when all this was over, he'd be able to share this with Steve, and not end up going home alone.

Bucky shivered as he drew his blanket up higher, tucking himself in tightly as he gazed up at the sky, just in time to see a shooting star cut across the black.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, and made a wish.

~*~

After a few days of resting and gorging himself on whatever food T'Challa magicked into existence, Bucky began to feel something like himself again. Despite his impatience, his wounds still healed in an absurdly short amount of time. T'Challa offered him his clothes back once the bandages were removed, and they were clean and mended like he'd never left on his crazy journey at all.

“So, does this mean it's time for the last task?” Bucky asked as he smoothed his hands down the front of his T-shirt, marvelling at how soft the fabric felt now that it was free of mud, dust, and sweat. “The riddles thing?”

“If you are feeling ready, then I can summon The Guard,” T'Challa replied as he stood before Bucky, and held out his previously tattered backpack to him, which was just as clean and new as his clothes were.

“Is there anything I should know before we start?” Bucky asked as he accepted the bag and slung it over his shoulders. Even though he wouldn't need it for the challenge, it felt good to have it on. In an odd way, it made him feel more prepared for whatever was to come.

“Be cautious when answering his riddles, Bucky,” T'Challa replied. “The answer will often feel obvious, but The Guard's riddles are never the same for any trial-goer. They are tailored specifically for you. Remember that.”

If Bucky was being honest with himself, he didn't think T'Challa's help was all that helpful, but maybe that was the best he could do without nullifying the test. Above all, Bucky _really _didn't want to do all the trials over again.

With that in mind, Bucky took a slow breath to steady himself, and stood up, his eyes on the sea. T'Challa nodded, and produced a thin something seemingly from midair.

At first glance, Bucky thought the thing in T'Challa's hand looked like a pen, but by the same token, he didn't think a world that looked so medieval would use _pens._ When Bucky squinted a little, he realized that it wasn't a pen, but some kind of white whistle.

“Bone whistle,” T'Challa supplied in response to Bucky's bemused expression. “It is the only way to call the guard.”

“Oh,” Bucky replied as he made a face. “That is _not _the kind of bone I would want in my mouth.”

The attempt at humour, as expected, was utterly lost on T'Challa. He stared at Bucky for a long moment with a bewildered look on his face, but at the last minute shook his head a little and looked away, as though he'd decided that he _really _didn't want to know.

Instead of speaking further, T'Challa lifted the whistle to his lips and blew. It was one long high-pitched note, like the peep of a songbird stretched out for an unnaturally long time. T'Challa stopped as quickly as he'd begun, standing up straight and remaining silent as he stared out to the sea.

Bucky wanted to ask so many questions in that moment; would the Guard just _appear_, or if he had to come to them, how that one little whistle could summon someone (or some_thing?_), and where in all of this was _Steve?_

The thought of Steve made Bucky's heart ache, and it reminded him of the seriousness of what he was about to do, why he had to get it right and not mess it up. He committed T'Challa's last advice to memory as they stood there; Bucky breathed slowly in a vain attempt to remain calm and keep his mind clear, though it didn't help nearly as much as he'd hoped that it would.

It felt like a long time before the Guard appeared on the horizon.

He walked on top of the water like it was nothing more than a road, and it seemed to take no effort at all. Like Steve and T'Challa, the Guard was dressed in armour, but _unlike_ T'Challa and Steve, this Guard's armour was pure gold.

The Guard shone brightly in the midday sun, every part of him concealed under the armour, and the visor of his helmet pulled down so that Bucky could not see his face. The shape of the helmet reminded Bucky of a dragon, with long pieces extending off the back like lightning bolts fused to the metal, and the visor drawn to a fierce point, lending to the impression that the Guard was _not _someone to take lightly.

“_I have been summoned,” _the Guard said in a deep voice as he slowed to a stop upon the beach. _“Explain.”_

Bucky looked to T'Challa, but his companion ignored him, making it pretty clear that he wasn't going to speak on Bucky's behalf. Bucky took a breath to steady himself, then looked back to the intimidating Guard.

“I-I've completed the three trials,” Bucky said, though his attempt to sound confident was lost somewhere along the way, and his voice badly trembled as he spoke. “I've come to entreat with you for Steve's release.”

“_You must complete my task in order to free the condemned,” _the Guard said, _“are you prepared? Should you lose, you will gain a cell of your own.”_

Bucky's wide-eyed gaze whipped to T'Challa, but T'Challa would not look at him. Had he known that that was the price that if he lost he'd be imprisoned too?

But what could Bucky do, _not _try? If he didn't try, Steve would stay locked up, and if he _did _try, there was always a chance, no matter how slim, that he could win, and save his fairy from a thousand years of imprisonment for something that _he _had done to him.

“Yes,” Bucky said as he turned to face the Guard again, “I'm ready.”

The Guard inclined his head once in a short nod. Bucky expected him to immediately begin his riddles, but instead Bucky felt his feet lift off the ground as the world was suffused in darkness, almost like when he'd been in the mirror.

When he landed again, Bucky found himself in a room with dark panelling on the walls, a fire roaring in an old-fashioned fireplace, and every single surface was covered in glasses, mugs, and cups. He saw silver wine goblets, tall beer glasses, mugs, bone china teacups, and everything in between. They were arranged neatly, no cup touching another, and there were so many of them that Bucky worried that one misstep from him would cause him to knock all of them down, like dominoes.

“_My first riddle is this, faeling,” _the Guard began, his deep voice drawing Bucky's focus back to him. _“How do you fill an empty cup?”_

Bucky's first instinct was to respond, “with...liquid?” but that seemed far too simple. It was obvious that cups were used for drinking, but sometimes they were used for eating, too. He'd binged enough fancypants cooking competition TV shows to have seen people put food in martini glasses, so by that logic, a glass could also be filled with something to eat.

But that didn't seem right, either. T'Challa had told him that the riddles would be tailored specifically to him, and it was entirely possible that the _cup _that the Guard spoke of might be some kind of metaphor.

_But a metaphor for what? _Bucky wondered as he took a careful step back from T'Challa and the Guard, and cast his gaze towards the dozens and dozens of cups. _Something to be...filled? What else can be filled, except cups?_

Bucky knew that empty things could be filled. Empty things like potholes filled with rainwater, or an ancient canyon filled with water that creates a lake, or, more abstractly, empty brains needing to be filled with knowledge.

By that notion, _people _can be empty. Empty from..._loss._

_What if the cup is me? _Bucky wondered as he paced, and gazed at all the glasses around him. Within the same moment he jolted to a stop, just as he noticed something _peculiar _about all the cups.

The cups were all in pairs.

Two champagne flutes, two teacups, two wine goblets. All of them bore some kind of design on them, all of them different, but all of them still bore one unique similarity—

A red star.

“The cup is me,” Bucky said at last, “I am filled with Steve's love for me, and that is what brought me here.”

T'Challa smiled at him approvingly in the same moment that the room abruptly faded, and they reappeared on the beach once more.

“_Well-reasoned, faeling,” _the Guard responded with a nod. _“Are you prepared for the second riddle?”_

“I am.”

“_Very well, then.” _The Guard paused, almost like he was thinking, then asked, _“how do you chain a man with nothing at all?”_

Once again, the beach vanished. When the world reformed around them, this time Bucky discovered that they were inside a dungeon.

It was fairly standard for a dungeon, as far as Bucky was concerned. The walls were drab grey slabs of stone, there was no natural light, and the chains that trailed down from the ceiling ended in cuffs around the wrists and ankles of an ancient-looking skeleton. The floor was carpeted with dust, but Bucky's footsteps didn't disturb it, reinforcing the idea that he wasn't really in a dungeon at all, but still on the beach, and this was all some kind of illusion that the Guard was creating for the purpose of the riddle.

This time, Bucky thought that the answer was pretty obvious, but he gave himself a minute to think and observe the space. He wanted to make sure that his first instinct was correct, and not be done in by his over-confidence. Bucky knew now that this would be another metaphorical chain, and as he gazed at the long chains that bound the skeleton, he found his answer almost at once.

Two of the links within the chain were in the shape of hearts entwined together.

“You chain a man with love,” Bucky responded simply, and once again, T'Challa smiled at him in approval as the dungeon vanished, and they returned to the beach.

“_I have one last riddle for you, faeling,” _the Guard said. _“Should you answer correctly, Steven will be released from his imprisonment. If you fail however, you will face a life behind bars in a storm cage. Are you prepared, faeling?”_

“I am,” Bucky repeated without even a moment of hesitation. His heart thrummed fast in his chest, fear and excitement overlapping each other so quickly that Bucky found it almost impossible to untangle the two. If he could _just _get through this last riddle, he would see Steve again. And, regardless of what the mirror wanted to tell him, they _would _get their Happily Ever After.

“_How does one raise the walking dead?”_

The question echoed in Bucky's ears as they were transported again, this time to a cemetery.

It was dark out, but a full moon in the sky illuminated the vast necropolis without effort. The bare autumnal trees were occupied by squawking crows, and all the headstones appeared to be at least a few hundred years old based on how faded the epitaphs were.

Once again, Bucky could easily assume that the riddle was metaphorical in nature, and the Guard did not mean _actual _zombies.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop his stupid brain from jumping to cliché zombie movies, and all the so-called causes of a zombie apocalypse.

Bucky shook his head as he tried to focus. He knew that there were be a hint hidden here like there had been before, but clearly it was better hidden than the last two, as it did not jump out at Bucky so easily.

Bucky looked at the gravestones, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. What could the Guard _mean _by 'walking dead'?

_What if I'm the walking dead...or...if Steve is? Or are we both the walking dead, because of what I did?_

Bucky wasn't sure, but the thought of it had made his heart _ache _for Steve. Living without him, even for such a short span of time, had been _agonizing_. Without him, Bucky really did feel dead inside, like he'd lost an incredibly important part of himself in the process.

_I did this, _Bucky realized, and when he blinked, he felt hot tears drip down his cheeks. He sniffed sharply as he slowed to a stop, and lifted an arm to dry his eyes. When he looked down at the gravestone he'd stopped in front of, he felt his body freeze.

_Here lies_

_The Heart of Steven Grant Rogers_

_of House Shield_

_Lost Love of James Buchanan Barnes_

Bucky stared. All the world seemed to have shrunk to a singular point. For a long, uninterrupted moment, Bucky struggled to find the meaning behind the inscription.

Then, like a swift punch to the gut, Bucky understood.

His rash actions had _broken _Steve's heart, as surely as it had broken his own.

Bucky's knees seemed to give out beneath him, the dry leaves crunching under his weight, and he buried his face in his hands as he began to weep. No one came to his aid as he cried, though he felt the cold earth under him shift to sand, and he knew that he'd failed. At the same time, Bucky couldn't make himself stop even as he wailed, “_I did this, oh God, I __did__ this...Steve, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...”_

A hand touched Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky knew that it was T'Challa. He didn't know what the consequence might be to completely falling apart in the middle of a trial, but Bucky was pretty sure it was complete and utter _failure. _What other reason could there be for bringing Bucky back to the beach so quickly, if it wasn't to punish him for how he'd acted?

It took Bucky an embarrassingly long time to come back to himself. T'Challa didn't say anything, and neither did the Guard; they just stayed quiet, and never rushed Bucky towards calming down; they just let him get there on his own. It was surprising, in a way—Bucky had never been around other men who were so _okay_ with a man breaking down so completely, which was part of why Bucky always felt more comfortable in the company of women. It was refreshing though, and it made it feel _safe _to need a moment to collect himself, rather than having to force it all down at some kind of unnatural speed.

When Bucky did at last collect himself into something resembling calm, he looked up and found that he and T'Challa were the only ones on the beach. The Guard was gone.

“W-What happened?” Bucky asked as he straightened up and looked around, still mopping his face with his hands, though he was sure that he looked like a hot _mess_ right now. “Where's the Guard? What happens now?”

“Take a breath, Bucky,” T'Challa advised. “The Guard will be back soon.”

“For me, you mean,” Bucky filled in with a grimace, and he hung his head. “Man, has anyone ever screwed up the Guard's challenge that badly before?”

“Screwed up?” T'Challa asked, his brow creasing with obvious confusion, and Bucky supposed that once again, things got a little lost in translation.

“Messed up, made a mistake, I don't know what you want to call it, but obviously I failed the last riddle pretty spectacularly,” Bucky explained as he stared out to sea, and rubbed a hand over his face. It still felt damp, and his eyelashes were wet, but all of that flew from his mind when T'Challa suddenly began to _laugh._

Bucky whipped his head around, eyes wide with horror, certain for one wild moment that it was some kind of evil laugh; T'Challa was surely about to tell him all about how he'd been tricking him all along, and that he'd been playing a _long _game, with the intent of imprisoning Bucky here in Otherworld.

However, when Bucky listened, _really listened, _to the tone of T'Challa's laugh, he realised that it wasn't the the laugh of some sort of villain. It was a warm laugh, like the sort of laugh a friend might let out when seeing their companion make a huge but hilarious wipe-out.

“Oh, Bucky, no, you haven't lost anything,” T'Challa said once he'd managed to curb his laughter, though he kept giggling as he regarded Bucky. “You've _won._ The Guard has gone to get Steve for you.”

“_I...what?_ I...” Bucky sputtered, but despite his inability to form some kind of normal sentence, T'Challa did not take back what he'd said, which made it feel more real to Bucky. He watched him for one more moment, then asked, “...Really?”

“Yes,” T'Challa replied with another warm chuckle. “The final riddle was designed for you to _accept _your faults and acknowledge the hurt you caused to both yourself and Steven by your rash actions. You accepted that without pride clouding your mind. You wept for what you lost, and for what you did to Steven, regardless how accidental it may have been. It takes _true _strength to accept your mistakes, Bucky, and not lay the blame upon someone else. The Guard recognized that, and has left to free Steven from his prison. It is far out to sea however, and will take the Guard some time to retrieve him.”

Bucky's heart swelled at the news, and he truly didn't know if he wanted to jump up and down, scream, or cry all over again, but this time from joy.

He'd done it, he'd finally _done _it—after what felt like months of misery he'd reached his goal, and Steve was going to come back to him.

Of course, he knew all their problems wouldn't go away the moment Steve was in his arms again. Bucky had a _lot _to make up for, and he doubted that this would be fixed with another serving of blueberry pancakes, or a mind-blowing fuckfest.

Which was a shame, as that was precisely what Bucky planned to do when they got home, but maybe that would be a start to fixing things between them, and somewhere along the way, maybe they'd even find a balance between their human and fairy lives, which would be nice.

T'Challa stayed quiet as Bucky stepped towards the centre of the beach, and stared out at the horizon. The cool breeze tousled the loose hairs that had fallen from his bun, and he smiled, knowing that all too soon, he would see _his _fairy on that horizon.

Bucky could hardly wait.


	21. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for November 15th. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-One – Reunion

Bucky sat on the beach as he watched the silhouette of the Guard disappear on the horizon. With him went the sun, and T'Challa forced food on Bucky, insisting that he eat.

It was a surprise, in a way, as Bucky had been so excited to see Steve again that he'd _completely_ forgotten about eating.

Bucky accepted the food somewhat grudgingly, hating to look away from the horizon for even a moment, assuming, from what he remembered of that mirror-vision, that that was where Steve would be coming from.

Bucky didn't remember going to sleep that night, but he supposed he must have, as he woke up farther inland, lying on a blanket, and with a platter of food resting near his head. He thought it was fairly safe to assume just who had taken care of him after he'd fallen asleep, and he sent a mental thank-you to T'Challa, despite the fact that the fairy probably wasn't able to hear it.

Bucky looked around the beach as he dug into the breakfast of apples, soft cheeses, and warm rolls, and came to realise that he was completely on his own. It was a surprise, in a strange way, as he'd gotten pretty used to having T'Challa around.

“T'Challa?” Bucky called, his voice shaky and uncertain, but he relaxed when he saw a black cat saunter out from behind a tall stone, and meander over to him.

“I'd assumed you would want to be alone with Steven when he arrives,” T'Challa said smoothly. “Was I incorrect?”

“Well, he's not here _yet,_” Bucky pointed out with a wry smile, “and I wouldn't mind some company.”

“Humans truly are needy creatures,” T'Challa remarked with an exaggerated sigh as he changed smoothly back to his human form. “I guide you through all your trials at great personal risk to myself, _and yet_ you still have the audacity to demand more of me!”

T'Challa's tone was notably—and surprisingly—jocose. Bucky had never heard the man make _any _kind of joke before, and to hear him do it now was more than a little startling.

“You're in a good mood,” Bucky remarked at last while he arched a brow at his companion, “_and _you called me human. What, I'm not faeling anymore?”

“You are undoubtedly still a faeling,” T'Challa replied. “But I suppose...you are human also.”

“I guess I was too stressed out about finding Steve to ask this, but...do I have any special powers, because of what happened?” Bucky asked curiously as he spread some of the cheese onto a piece of bread, and popped it into his mouth. “Like...can I fly, or, I don't know...have super-strength or something?”

“In time you might develop some powers of the western fae,” T'Challa said thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the sea, in a way that made Bucky assume he was watching for Steve. “At the moment, the most you might be able to do is maintain a longer human life—that is, if you choose to return to the human world.”

“Huh?”

“The beings who reside in Otherworld do not age,” T'Challa said patiently. “If you stay here, you will remain as you are now, and you will be able to stay with Steven forever. If you leave, you will age as you normally do.”

“Will Steve age with me, if he comes along?” Bucky asked curiously, and T'Challa shook his head. “Why not?”

“He is a child of the fae,” T'Challa said, in a tone of voice like that simple statement explained everything. To Bucky's perplexed expression however, T'Challa let out a huff as he added, “he is not _from _your world, therefore he cannot be affected by the laws that govern it.”

“So...if I went to Mars, would the laws of _that _planet not govern me?”

“I think you'd die of lack of oxygen first,” T'Challa retorted dryly, and Bucky burst out laughing.

For the next few hours, Bucky and T'Challa talked.

It would occur to Bucky later that he _could _have asked T'Challa more important questions, maybe related to what he'd seen in the mirror, or about life in Otherworld, or if he could _really _use Steve fucking him as a means to get superpowers.

Instead, he found himself explaining _baseball _to a fairy.

Which would have been fun, had T'Challa had _any _sort of grasp on the subject, but either T'Challa was being wilfully ignorant on the subject, or he just _really _didn't get it.

“So, the Pitcher is a sentient drinking vessel, correct?” T'Challa asked, and Bucky swallowed a groan.

“No, it's just a title,” Bucky repeated, while he did his best to not sound too annoyed with his companion. “It means the one who throws the balls during the innings.”

“And what are they in, exactly?” he asked, and Bucky huffed a soft laugh.

“They're not _in _anything. It's just what they call the...uh...period of time for each team to...uh...do its thing.”

“I see. And when do they fight one another?”

“There is no fighting, or there usually isn't,” Bucky filled in, some of his exasperation now colouring his tone of voice. He _really _couldn't tell if T'Challa was doing this on purpose or not. “They just...play.”

“That sounds dull,” T'Challa proclaimed as he eased back a little. “_Adults _do these things? Not children?”

“Some humans are _very _invested in these sorts of things,” Bucky replied, and he laughed when T'Challa shook his head in dismay, like he could hardly believe it.

T'Challa opened his mouth to say more, most likely keen to ask yet another really weird question, when his eyes drifted to the water again, and he smiled faintly.

Bucky turned, following his line of sight, and he felt his breath catch when he spotted what T'Challa was looking at.

Distantly, there were two figures that had, at last, appeared on the horizon.

Without having to be asked, T'Challa stood up and brushed the sand off his armour while he said, “I will leave you alone to await Steven's return. If you need anything, just call for me.”

“Is there anything I should know?” Bucky asked without turning his eyes away from the pinprick of Steve slowly making his way back to him. “About...how he will be?”

“The Storm Cage is designed for punishment,” T'Challa said, “and it _hurts. _Most likely, he will have many burns on his body that will not heal magically. He may need to rest for a few weeks in order to fully recover.”

“Would it be better for him to recover in Otherworld, or at home...I mean, the human world?” Bucky asked, reluctantly turning his gaze away from the vision of Steve in order to look up at T'Challa, who shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“It won't matter one way or the other,” T'Challa said patiently. “However, accessing the human world will be easier for the both of you, as the access points to your world are closer than his home would be. I would advise you take him there to recuperate.”

_Just like my mirror-vision, _Bucky thought, though he didn't repeat it out loud.

In truth, the mere fact that his mirror-vision and his reality were beginning to line up was causing Bucky to dissolve into something close to panic. Did that mean that _everything_ that he'd seen was destined to come to pass? Would he still leave Steve alone to mourn until the end of time?

Bucky shook himself, but that didn't do much to clear his vision or reassure him of what he remembered. And despite the fact that he probably should have talked with T'Challa about it, he couldn't quite find the right words for it. In a way, it almost felt too private, and it didn't feel right to bring it up just yet.

“All right, I'll bring him there...once he gets here,” Bucky heard himself say, while his gaze returned to sea. “Um...I'll call you if I need anything. Thank you, T'Challa...for everything.”

T'Challa nodded, his expression understanding, before he shifted his form once more, and headed away from the beach.

Once T'Challa was gone, Bucky stood up and moved back towards the shore. He stopped just shy of the rolling tide, and sat down again. The soft rush of the waves soothed his nerves, and the vocalizations of all the nearby wildlife was calming. It felt almost like a reassurance that everything would be okay.

Bucky didn't know if that was true, but for the time being, he was desperately wanted to believe it.

~*~

Bucky sat by the shore all day. Whenever he felt even vaguely hungry or thirsty, food and water would appear next to him, and though he'd been sitting out in the sun for hours, his skin never burned, and he never felt overtly hot or cold. It was like the beach was designed to be perfect for him in every way, and Bucky was deeply grateful for it.

As the sun crossed the sky, the image of Steve and the Guard inched closer. As the sun began to set, Bucky was gifted with a clearer view of Steve's face. As T'Challa had said, Bucky could see welts on Steve's exposed skin, and he was dressed simply in black tights and a black long-sleeved shirt, with a turtleneck collar that stopped just above his adam's apple. Bucky recognized it as the clothing he usually wore beneath his armour, and Bucky could presume that he wasn't allowed to have his armour while he'd been imprisoned.

Bucky tried to remember if this was the same clothing that Steve had been wearing inside his mirror-vision, but he couldn't remember. He wanted to try and recall it, but actually _seeing _Steve felt more important at the moment.

And, the fact that Steve was _smiling._

The sight, in turn, brought a smile to Bucky's face as he stood up. Steve was still to far out for Bucky to run to him, but the warmth in the other man's expression was a great relief.

Steve wasn't mad about what happened.

He was _happy _to see Bucky.

The knowledge that Steve did not blame Bucky for what he'd done was almost enough to bring Bucky to tears.

Bucky stood on that beach, arms wrapped around himself, and he smiled when he saw Steve stagger ahead of the guard, and fall on top of the sea, like it was nothing more than a slab of pavement. Bucky could see the enthusiasm in Steve's movements; the deep desire to get to Bucky more quickly, though it was pretty clear that he was too weak to go anywhere on his own.

The Guard helped him up, and Steve waved his arm, like he was dismissing something that the Guard was saying. Bucky could presume, even _without _reading minds, that the Guard was telling Steve to take it easy, and Steve was dismissing his warnings.

_That sounds like my Steve, _Bucky thought with a wry smile, even as he took a small, uncertain step forward, and frowned in disappointment when his foot sank right into the water.

Bucky stepped back, half-tempted to shout something to Steve, in particular when he saw Steve try to speed up his trek again, but staggered again, though this time he managed to stay on his feet until the Guard caught up with him, and pointed at him like he was scolding Steve for trying to run ahead.

_I'm coming, Bucky, _Bucky heard Steve whisper into his mind. _I'm coming._

Bucky tried to think back a response, telling Steve to _slow down, I promise I'm not going anywhere, _but he wasn't certain if Steve could hear him.

Instead of assaulting Steve's thoughts with questions or reassurances, Bucky stayed still and watched them approach. It felt almost _painfully _long, watching Steve inch closer, no longer on the horizon, but standing on deep water, his ankles surrounded by the dorsal fins of dolphins, almost like they intended to escort him into the shallows. Though Steve was closer now, the sun had at last gone down and suffused then in darkness, impeding Bucky from getting a clearer look of Steve's injuries. It had to be bad though, merely based on the snail's pace with which Steve moved, and how much he needed to rely on the Guard just to put one foot in front of the other.

For one wild moment, Bucky was tempted to just _swim _out to where Steve was, but the idea of accidentally dropping Steve into salt water stopped him short. He had no _clue _if swimming out there would mess with whatever magic was holding them up, and if he accidentally broke the spell, he didn't think dropping salt water into all of Steve's wounds would be that great of an idea.

Instead Bucky waited.

By full dark, Steve had at last—_at last—_made it to the shallows, and Bucky _couldn't_ wait another _second _for Steve to get any closer_._

Bucky raced out into the water, and his theory was immediately proven correct when he saw Steve and the Guard's feet drop into the sea, and the Guard let out a warm chortle, almost like he'd expected it. However, that didn't stop him from staying by Steve's side as Bucky all but crashed into him, ensuring that Bucky wouldn't knock the weakened fairy over, while Bucky crushed his lips against Steve's.

“I'm sorry, Steve,” Bucky whispered when the kiss broke, and his voice breaking as he began to cry. “God, I'm _so _sorry. I wasn't thinking when I made that _stupid _wish, I never wanted you to leave, not really, I'm so sorry for doing this to you, I—”

“_Shh,_” Steve whispered as he moved in to kiss Bucky again. “It's all right, my Bucky. I know what it must have cost for you to get here.” He paused, pecking Bucky's lips in a soft, tender kiss, while one arm slid slowly around Bucky's waist. “I forgive you.”

Bucky wanted to stay there and hold onto Steve forever, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that Steve was _really _real, and he wasn't some sort of elaborate hallucination. However, doing so meant that they'd be standing in ankle-deep water for however long it took for his psyche to catch up with his reality, and he didn't want to do that to Steve.

Instead, Bucky turned to the Guard and said, “I've got him,” while he slid an arm around Steve's waist, and allowed the fairy to brace against him instead of the Guard.

“Thank you, Heimdall,” Steve said to the Guard, and he nodded his head in response to Steve's words, while Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion. What sort of name was _hamball?_

“_It was my pleasure, Steven,” _the Guard said. _“Go in peace. I do hope I shall not see you here again.”_

“I hope not,” Steve agreed with a warm chuckle, smiling at the Guard, while he nodded his head once, and vanished into thin air.

“Come on,” Bucky murmured the moment that the Guard had disappeared, “let's get you up on dry land.”

Steve nodded in fervent agreement to that plan, and slowly Bucky helped his fairy out of the water and onto the beach. The slight incline was enough to make Steve stagger a little, and Bucky slowed his pace so that he wouldn't hurt his boyfriend, smiling with relief when Steve actually slowed down with him, and did not appear in any hurry to get back to Bucky's abandoned supplies.

It took far longer than Bucky would have expected, but though it was slow work getting Steve out of the water and up to his blankets and backpack, Bucky didn't mind in the least. It felt like _years _since he'd last seen Steve, and he'd take every single moment with him that he could _get._

When they did at last get to Bucky's stuff, he carefully set Steve down on the slightly rumpled blanket, and Bucky apologised repeatedly when the fairy let out a hiss of pain.

“Here, drink this,” Bucky said gently as he pressed his trusty clay bottle into Steve's hand, and he stared at it with a vague look of shock, before he obediently uncorked the vessel and took a long drink.

“Where did you get this?” Steve rasped when he'd finished drinking. “This is a River Cask. It can hold a whole river within its confines. I _know _humans have been incapable of replicating this.”

“T'Challa gave it to me,” Bucky replied as he blinked bemusedly. Wouldn't Steve had known that, if Steve had _sent _T'Challa to help him?

“_T'Challa?_” Steve demanded, a note of surprise in his voice. “But...how...”

Steve seemed to have lost his ability to speak, but at the same moment, a familiar black cat stepped back onto the beach, his lips curling at the very corners, as though he was mightily pleased with himself.

“Hello, Steven,” he said, and chuckled when Steve gaped at him. If Bucky was being honest with himself, he had no _clue _if Steve's shock was a good thing or a bad thing. Once again, Bucky felt a tendril of worry twist in the pit of his stomach, wondering, yet again, if T'Challa had been playing him this whole time.

“How did you know to help Bucky?” Steve demanded at once. “I didn't exactly have _time _to tell anyone of my imprisonment.”

“When true love's heart breaks, it can be heard as clearly as a bell,” T'Challa replied smoothly, as though that simple explanation would tell him everything that he needed to know.

“You heard it?” Steve asked, his tone of voice no longer panicked, but much more calm, and after a half-beat of silence, Steve said, “ah, the debt.”

“You saved me from the dark sprites,” T'Challa filled in smoothly. “I was obliged to return the favour.”

“Well, I thank you for helping Bucky during his trials, I imagine it wasn't easy—”

“—hang on _one _second!” Bucky interrupted, and both fairies turned to him with startled looks on their faces. “If Steve never talked to you, how did you know all that stuff about me needing help, and that I liked cats, and everything?”

“I saw it in your mind,” T'Challa replied simply. “Steven's heartbreak is something that another fae he trusts would be able to _sense_. I felt it more keenly because I was in his debt. Steven's anguish came with visions, showing me images of you. When I sensed that you had entered Otherworld, I drew you in with my song, so that no other creature might happen upon you first, and trick you.”

“But...all those times I tried to talk to you mentally...”

“...were _very _annoying, thank you,” T'Challa filled in, his clipped, irritated tone of voice making Steve snicker, and the cat shot Steve with a withering glare, which only caused Steve to laugh harder. Bucky shook his head, exasperated, while T'Challa conjured a plate of food for Steve while he said, “eat something, Steven. You're dead on your feet.”

Smiling fondly first at Bucky, then at T'Challa, Steve accepted the platter without a word of protest, and began to eat.


	22. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for November 29th. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Two – Coming Home

Steve rested on the beach for two days and two nights. The burns that seemed to cover his entire body refused to heal with any sort of speed like Bucky had come to associate with the magic of fairies. T'Challa showed Bucky how to create the medicated bandages that would keep the injuries clean and ward off infection instead, and Bucky resigned himself to the slow wait for Steve to heal on his own without the benefit of his powers.

While Steve rested, Bucky went diving with a weird kind of upside-down goldfish bowl on his head that T'Challa had given him. It helped him to breathe and explore while he took in the sheer vastness of Otherworld's picturesque seascape.

The undersea life of Otherworld was just as magnificent as dry land, with coral reefs as far as the eye could see, fish with scales that glimmered like precious gems, and sea floors abundant with shellfish—including edible varieties.

Bucky only ever gathered enough to eat and brought it back ashore, where T'Challa would help him sort out what was edible from what was poisonous. Strangely, the _colourful things will probably kill you _rule didn't seem to apply here—the more vibrant shellfish T'Challa declared safe, while the grey and dull brown creatures were thrown back into the deep. Then, T'Challa insisted on preparing them after he witnessed Bucky utterly _decimate _an oyster with a shell that seemed to be entirely made of pearl, and Bucky happily divested himself of that particular chore while he took over grilling duties for their seafood feast.

Like everything else in Otherworld, every piece of meat seemed to be too perfect for words.

The shellfish were succulent and sweet, the raw selection that T'Challa prepared with some kind of fruit similar to a lemon was fresher than any sushi Bucky had ever had, and part of him longed to just stay and eat this kind of food _forever._

Of course, Bucky understood the danger that came with a thought like that. If he'd been different—that is, completely human—it may have been dangerous to think like that at all, but he trusted the reassurances that had come from both Steve and T'Challa. As they had said, due to Steve accidentally turning Bucky into a part-fairy the food was safe for him to eat, and it would not trap him here.

Which was a relief, because it was _really good._

“You know, if you keep gorging yourself on seafood, you're not going to fit through the exit of Otherworld,” Steve remarked teasingly on the morning of their third day, and Bucky snorted.

“I'll fit, you'll see,” Bucky retorted, and Steve chuckled warmly while he reached out to touch Bucky's back affectionately. “It's not _my_ fault you guys have amazing food here. Blame...whoever invented those glass oyster things.”

“I'm not sure _invention _is a word you can apply to living creatures, but I'll be sure to pass the message along,” Steve joked, and Bucky grinned as he carefully wrapped an arm around Steve's waist, mindful of all the bandages around most of his torso, and he let out a sigh as he rested his head against the fairy's shoulder.

“Either way, I'm just glad you're here, and we can share these things,” Bucky murmured, and let out a soft laugh when Steve bowed forward just enough to press a kiss to the top of Bucky's head.

“Me too, Bucky,” Steve whispered, “me too.”

~*~

For the next few days, Bucky dutifully tended to Steve with occasional help from T'Challa, mostly in the form of conjuring food for them along with some kind of weird, sparkly powder that Steve had to mix into his water, which according to T'Challa was some kind of restorative for fairies, though the explanation of what it was always managed to go right over Bucky's head. All he really knew for sure that it was made from the seashells of the food Bucky had collected earlier in the week, and it would help Steve to heal faster.

Of course, Bucky would have preferred if T'Challa had just _told _him that instead of just casually suggesting Bucky go foraging for food, but he knew that T'Challa always had a reason for doing the things he did, even if Bucky couldn't see what it was, or why.

Admittedly, though he was thrilled that Steve was back with them, Bucky was getting a little tired of sleeping outside. However, he wasn't about to complain about it or think on it for too long, especially considering for that first week Steve was far too weak to do much moving, and it wouldn't be fair to try and transport him home just yet.

Thankfully, as they entered the second week of Steve's recovery, Steve was able to move on his own in short bursts, and he'd even managed to use some of his magic again. As soon as Steve was able to conjure his own food rather than rely on T'Challa, T'Challa pronounced that Steve was at last well enough to go with Bucky back to the human world.

“Oh, good,” Steve said with a warm chuckle as he wrapped an arm around Bucky and pulled him close, which caused his human to let out a laugh. “I've missed our bed—or any bed at all, for that matter.”

“I will escort you to the gateway, Steven,” T'Challa said with a kind smile. “At that point I shall consider my oath fulfilled, and depart for my homeland.”

“Thank you, old friend,” Steve replied with a smile. “For everything.”

Together they packed up Bucky's belongings, including the blankets that T'Challa had conjured. Though Steve had been deemed well enough to travel, he still needed to take frequent breaks, and he was still too weak to don his armour, opting instead for a loose tunic with drawstrings at the chest and a pair of breeches, along with a pair of boots made out of some kind of supple leather.

Admittedly, the outfit made him look (to Bucky, at least) like a huge and very buff hobbit, which threw him back to his teen years and his crush on Elijah Wood, which very nearly made Bucky start laughing out loud.

If Steve had seen Bucky's random thought, he didn't comment on it, though he smiled warmly every time their eyes met, almost like he couldn't quite believe that he was finally free.

_Believe it, baby, _Bucky thought with a warm smile, _'cause I'm never letting you go ever again._

That thought Bucky knew Steve would be able to hear, and snickered when the fairy reacted to it by flushing an attractive pink.

“It you two have finished flirting,” T'Challa interjected dryly, “maybe we could get going.”

“That sounds good to me,” Bucky replied with a teasing grin, far too happy to feel even a little bit embarrassed, and T'Challa shook his head at him with a fond smile, waving his hand once to magically hasten their packing, and Bucky shouldered both bags before he moved forward and pressed a single finger to Steve's lips, which had just begun to open.

“No arguments, fairy-man,” Bucky commanded. “You're still healing, so _I'm _gonna carry your stuff. Are we clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Steve replied teasingly, and Bucky laughed, not even bothering to ask where Steve had picked up _that _particular phrase.

“Let's go, you two,” T'Challa interjected dryly, and when Bucky turned back to him, he saw that the fairy was arching a brow at him, it seemingly caught somewhere between suggestive and annoyed.

“Ready to go home?” Bucky asked as he shifted his gaze back to Steve, and his fairy smiled at him warmly while he stood with the help of a staff made of alder that T'Challa had carved for him the day prior.

“I am,” he replied as he walked towards Bucky, and his cheeks flushed pink yet again as Bucky beamed at him.

Together, and with T'Challa's guidance, the group ascended the small incline from the beach and entered the strangest tunnel Bucky had ever _seen._

That is, it was made entirely out of _trees._

The ceiling of the tunnel was nothing but a woven canopy of leaves, and the air had a pungent, but pleasant aroma that reminded Bucky of incense, but couldn't place it with any sort of precision.

It was definitely a more charming sight of Otherworld than what Bucky had seen thus far, and he smiled as he listened to the twittering of birds in the trees, and the soft little scuttles of small animals around them, making the tunnel feel so _alive_, but for once in a pleasant, non-threatening way.

The tunnel was short, and though it had felt to Bucky like he had travelled miles and miles to reach that beach from his start in the human world all those months ago, all too soon the tunnel ended, stopping in front of a huge tree with a trunk so wide that Bucky probably wouldn't be able to fit his arms around it.

“This is where I leave you,” T'Challa said as he nodded first to Bucky, then to Steve. “Bucky, it has been a pleasure knowing you. Steven, I am glad we were able to free you.”

“As am I,” Steve replied with a warm chuckle as he reached out to touch T'Challa's shoulder gently. “Thank you, my friend. Your oath is fulfilled. I do hope I will see you again.”

“Perhaps, Steven,” T'Challa replied as he turned away from them, and Bucky watched as the fairy took three steps back down the tunnel, and then vanished into thin air.

“Great, now what?” Bucky asked as he turned back to the big tree, but before he could complain any more Steve reached out for the tree's trunk, and dug his fingers into the bark on the right side of the trunk. In an instant, the bark popped open like a door, and as it swung open, Bucky peered into it and saw more woods on the other side.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve said as he reached for Bucky's free hand, “let's go.”

Bucky smiled as he took Steve's hand without question, and together they stepped through the magical doorway and into the woods. Though Bucky didn't feel any different as they stepped out of the tree, when Bucky turned around, he only saw a tall, mossy boulder where the tree had stood mere seconds before.

“Is...is that it?” Bucky asked uncertainly, “are we back?”

“We are,” Steve confirmed with a joyous smile. “Your house should be close.”

Bucky looked around, but all he could see was an autumnal forest around him, which felt like confirmation that they'd _at last_ made it back to the human world.

On top of that, Bucky noticed that they were standing right in the middle of a forest path, which made it fairly easy to follow it back the way he'd come, and towards _home._

“How long were we gone?” Bucky asked curiously as they walked, and Steve frowned at Bucky, though it was less of a disapproving or saddened expression, and more like he was confused.

“Why do you ask?”

“Those trials really messed with my perception of time,” Bucky admitted as they began to walk, Bucky's hand intertwined with Steve's free one, but tense, almost like he was trying to ensure that Steve really felt fine to keep walking just through touch alone. “So...a few hours were really a month at one point, and another time what felt like weeks wasn't that long at all...so I really have no clue how long it really was, but it feels like pretty much the same season here, unless I've been gone a year and this is _next _autumn...”

Steve slowed to a stop, and Bucky followed his lead as he watched Steve shut his eyes. Bucky moved to ask him if he was feeling okay, when Steve suddenly hissed at him to be quiet, and Bucky obediently snapped his mouth shut.

“We were in Otherworld for nearly seven months, by human reckoning,” Steve announced as his eyes slid back open. “However, time flows much faster there, and so on earth you have only been gone for a day.”

“A _day?!” _Bucky sputtered, then began to laugh, even as they recommenced their walk through the woods. “That's _awesome. _And here I was worrying that my sister would think I'd wandered out into the woods and _died _or something.”

“You have a sister?” Steve asked curiously, and Bucky smiled as he nodded.

“Didn't pick that up from reading my mind, huh?” Bucky teased right back, and Steve's cheeks flushed pink.

“I was trying to be respectful of your privacy, but I can hear your thoughts as clearly as your words, so it is more difficult to not respond to those,” Steve explained, his eyes turned from Bucky as he spoke, and Bucky chuckled warmly as he offered the blond's hand a squeeze.

“So if I think of what I want to do when you're healed...” Bucky mused, then thought of the most filthy, depraved sexual positions of the pair of them that he could, and grinned when Steve burst out laughing.

“Bucky, that is _not fair,_” Steve insisted as he kept giggling, pulling his hand back from Bucky's in order to cover his mouth while he tried in vain to get his laughter under control.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Bucky said with a slightly evil grin, and Steve shook his head as he grabbed Bucky's hand again and squeezed it tightly in his own. They resumed their walk, and the way the trees began to thin told him that they were getting close to home, when something else occurred to him. “Will my friends be able to see you?”

“I can only show myself to humans whom I allow to,” Steve explained with a wince. “You are part fairy now, and have visited Otherworld, so you can see all Fae. For normal humans, I must use my power to allow them to see me. It is a magical strength I do not have at the moment. When I am fully healed only then will I be able to show myself to your friends and family.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” Bucky replied with a slight frown, “but if it's gonna hurt you, I don't want you doing it until you're better.”

“I can attempt it—” Steve began, but Bucky was quick to cut him off.

“No way,” Bucky said firmly. “You're not gonna lift a _finger _until you're better. Understand?”

“Were you always this commanding?” Steve asked with a warm chortle, and Bucky responded with another _look._

They fell quiet for the rest of their trip, and Bucky nearly wept when he saw the silhouette of his house come into view.

_We're home, baby, _Bucky thought with a smile, knowing full-well that Steve would be able to hear him.

Bucky was too exhausted (emotionally, more than physically) to root around in his bag to find out if his keys had survived the trip. Instead, he dug into his mailbox and pulled out his spare.

Admittedly, it was a tactic that Bucky _never _would've used in New York, but out here he doubted that even leaving his door unlocked would have been an issue. On top of the fact that it was a sleepy little town where _nothing _exciting ever happened, the whole town seemed convinced that his house was haunted, so they were probably too scared to break in anyway.

“Now, here's the plan,” Bucky said as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for Steve while he used his staff to take the last few steps into the quaint little house. Bucky didn't know why he expected it to look different inside, but if they really had been gone only a day, there was no reason for anything to have changed.

“The plan?” Steve prompted when Bucky got too caught up in looking around his front hall, and he jumped a little as his thoughts were dragged back to the present.

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky said with a little laugh, and turned his gaze back to Steve while he shut the door behind him. “You're gonna come upstairs and you're gonna take a nice, long nap. While you're sleeping, I'm gonna do all the important stuff, like let my friends and sister know we're back, and all the rest, and I'm gonna make you a nice dinner. How does that sound?”

“What do you plan on telling your sister?” Steve asked curiously, even as he swayed a little while he gripped his staff. Bucky kicked off his shoes and took Steve's arm, guiding him upstairs as he answered his question.

“Most humans don't believe in fairies,” Bucky said gently. “If I told her the whole story chances are she'd think I'd lost my mind, and put me in a hospital somewhere; it wouldn't be good. I thought I'd hold off on the whole _I have a boyfriend _talk until after you're feeling better.”  
  
“Why wait?” Steve asked as they made it to Bucky's bedroom, and he forced the fairy down onto his bed before he relieved Steve of his staff, propping it up against the night table well within reach should he need it, then he began to peel Steve out of his clothes and replace them with a pair of his own comfy pyjamas.

“Because my sister is a nosy bitch, and if I didn't introduce you to her within the first thirty-six hours she'd assume something was wrong and harass me until I spit it out. It's just less of a headache if we wait it out—I promise it's not out of shame of you, or anything like that.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Steve said drowsily as he let Bucky dress him, though the pyjama pants stopped a few inches above Steve's ankle, and the button-down pyjama top refused to close over the fairy's broad chest, forcing Bucky to swap it for a big baggy T-shirt.

“Yeah, it does,” Bucky agreed as he turned down the covers and guided Steve under them, tucking his boyfriend in gently, though Steve was already asleep, and didn't seem to notice.

Bucky laid down alongside Steve, and smiled as he watched him sleep. After all that they'd been through, the sight of him looking so peaceful made joy swell in Bucky's chest like some sort of enormous balloon, even as the niggling worries from his time in Otherworld came back to him.

Primarily, his memories from the mirror.

Everything that had transpired since Steve's rescue felt very close to what Bucky had seen transpire in the mirror, though some of the finer details had become a little fuzzy, so Bucky could no longer recall how exact it was. He'd wanted to ask Steve about it, but Steve was so worn out by his ordeal in the Storm Cage that Bucky hadn't had the heart to bring it up.

_We've got all the time in the world to worry about that now, _Bucky thought to himself as he swept in to press a kiss to Steve's forehead, then reluctantly got up and headed back downstairs to let his fairy boyfriend sleep in peace.


	23. Facing the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So sorry for the delay, guys! Alas the last stretch of NaNoWriMo kicked my ass. But, at 51K words, I can now refocus all my energies on fanfic XD Next update is scheduled for December 13th. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Three – Facing the Future

When Bucky made it back down to the kitchen and checked his fridge, he found it just the way he'd left it. His tiny wheel of brie was still unopened, his meat lover's pizza still had two slices left, and his milk was half-full, and still smelled fine. 

And yet, it was still hard to believe that he'd only been gone for twenty-four hours. 

Bucky decided that a meat stew would probably be the thing for Steve to have to get him some energy back, and as he piled his counter high with dried herbs, frozen beef, and vegetables, it occurred to him in a vague sort of way that he still hadn't showered, or unpacked his bag, or anything—like, say, tell Darcy that he'd made it back in one piece. 

Bucky knew full-well that he'd never hear the end of it if Darcy got wind that he hadn't contacted her the second he arrived home. As as a result, he submerged the plastic-wrapped beef in some warm water to defrost, then opted to shower instead of just sitting around waiting for it to defrost, then he'd contact his pain-in-the-ass of a friend.

As it would turn out, the shower turned out to be an amazing idea. 

It helped to wash all the salt, dirt, and grime off his skin, and he even took the time to give himself a facial scrub and apply a pore strip, and by the time he'd finished, he felt like a new man. 

When he'd exited the bathroom in nothing but a towel, he tiptoed back into his bedroom for some fresh clothes, and smiled when he saw that Steve was still fast asleep. The fairy didn't even stir when Bucky bumped into the edge of the bed by accident, making it pretty clear just how wiped out Steve was by the whole ordeal. 

Bucky dressed in the bathroom to ensure that he wouldn't disturb Steve more than necessary. It felt good to put on different clothing, even if it was, by and large, the same outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. He felt good, and clean, and like the whole crazy adventure was finally behind them. 

Bucky checked on the meat again, but it was still mostly frozen, and so he grabbed his bag and sorted through it, setting aside Steve's medicine from Otherworld so that he wouldn't lose it, and then sifted through his own belongings, finding that his phone was definitely gone.

The only disappointing thing about that was the fact, at least in Bucky's opinion, was that he would have to start a few of his games over from scratch, as he'd never bothered to back them up to the cloud; all things considered, not the worst thing that could have happened during his little trip.

Bucky picked up his laptop, signed in, and headed over to his provider's website, and began to sift through the devices as he tried to decide on a new phone that wouldn't cost him an arm and a leg. 

Unfortunately, Bucky had been so focused on picking out a shiny new toy that he hadn't noticed that his tab for Facebook was still open, and it would definitely tell the whole world that he was online.

Or, rather, tell his friend that he wasn't dead yet.

**Darcy Lewis**

OMG

**Darcy Lewis**

ARE YOU HOME

**Darcy Lewis**

PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE EITHER HOME OR THAT FAIRY LAND HAS AMAZING WIFI

**Jimithy B. Barnes**

omg stop fucking yelling you sound like a facebook mom

**Jimithy B. Barnes**

yes im home, but no you cant come over. Steves asleep upstairs, and hes still recovering so he cant really be seen by humans yet. Its a long story. Anyway, were both exhausted and I lost my phone in Otherworld (another long story) and I promise to tell you everything later—

Bucky looked up as he heard his doorbell ring, and he couldn't help but snort when he looked out his front-facing window and spotted Darcy's car. Figures.

In a bid to keep his crazy friend from disturbing his sleeping fairy, Bucky didn't bother to send the message, and instead made a mad dash for the kitchen where he snatched two beers from the fridge, then rushed outside before Darcy could start hammering on the door.

“Hospital Zone,” Bucky hissed as he shoved one of the glass bottle into Darcy's hands.

“Uh, what?” she replied, blinking at him, and Bucky didn't say a word until he'd shut the door and sat down on the stoop, then motioned for Darcy to join him.

“Steve is asleep upstairs; I don't want your big mouth to wake him up,” Bucky explained when she'd finally sat down next to him, and she snorted derisively at Bucky's remark. “Hey, I mean it. Steve was really wiped out by what happened.”

“Was it really bad?” Darcy asked curiously. “I was planning to interrogate you the second I got here, but you look a little...”

“A little what?” Bucky asked when she trailed off, and she answered by using the hem of her shirt to twist the bottle open, and she took a long drink. “Seriously, what?”

“Like...you had to watch the end of Old Yeller fifty times in a row,” Darcy said, and Bucky snorted into his beer. 

“It's been a long seven months.”

“Excuse me, sunshine, but how do you cram seven months into twenty-four hours?” 

“Don't ask me, I don't make the rules,” Bucky replied as he sipped his beer. The crisp taste, paired with the autumnal weather was calming, in a weird sort of way, even as Darcy continued to gaze at him with worry. “I don't know how it works, but according to Steve we were in Otherworld for seven months, but only gone a day here.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Darcy asked, her tone less self-assured and more hesitant, and Bucky offered her a smile, then without hesitation, he told her everything.

It was a little bit strange, given that he couldn't call himself overly verbose when it came to his friends back in high school or in the army. But then, he'd been keeping an awful lot of secrets in those days. 

However, with Darcy, she knew literally everything about him, so in a way it made it easy to spill his guts to her, and leave absolutely nothing out.

And it certainly helped that Darcy was the embodiment of the perfect audience. She didn't interrupt, except to offer up little comments about what was happening, she gasped at all the right moments, and actually let out a high-pitched squeak of fright when he told her how he'd gotten dragged into the mirror-lake.

Darcy kept quiet until Bucky had finished his tale, closing out with a short explanation about Steve's depleted powers, and how he couldn't make himself visible to normal humans just yet. Darcy got a look on her face like she wanted to make some kind of teasing remark, but curbed the impulse as she asked instead, “so, what do you think the mirror-thing visions meant?”

“Honestly? No clue,” Bucky replied with a long sigh as he paused to take a long drink from his beer. “Some of the stuff I saw has already lined up, and I don't know if it's something I can actually escape...it almost feels like it's sort of...like it's set in stone.”

“Well, that doesn't sound like the Bucky Barnes that I know,” Darcy observed, curving a brow at him as she spoke. “You were ready to do anything to get Steve back, and now you're just gonna...what, go and just accept your shitty future? Leave Steve all alone forever and ever?”

The accusatory tone that Darcy used made Bucky feel a little sick. Under normal circumstances he may have immediately fought back and argued that that was not what he wanted to do, but he was just so tired. He wanted to sleep.

“No, that's not what I want,” Bucky said at last, though his words were soft and directed towards his lap. “I'm just scared, Darcy. You didn't see it there. It felt like...like leaving Steve all alone was inevitable.”

“And losing Steve felt like forever too, didn't it?” Darcy asked gently, her voice strangely devoid of its usual snark. It was really weird to hear his friend being so...nice.

“Yeah, it did,” Bucky admitted with a weak laugh. “Maybe I just need to talk about all this with Steve when he's feeling a bit better.”

“I see a lot of talking going on in that scenario,” Darcy teased, and she giggled and ducked when Bucky reached out to gently swat her on the shoulder. 

~*~

Darcy left not long after their talk and her beer, seeming to understand without Bucky having to say it that he needed to be alone with Steve until he felt well enough to show himself to regular humans. 

Bucky returned inside with the empty beer bottles and set them aside to be returned while he finally started on his beef stew. 

Using his grandmother's recipe, Bucky chopped vegetables and seared chuck steak; he simmered red wine and beef broth with herbs, until the entire house seemed to be ensconced in the smell of cooking stew. 

The inviting aroma was even enough to pique Steve's interest, and using his walking stick he meandered downstairs around suppertime. Bucky had driven down to the bakery a bit earlier while Steve slept, and the two-minute drive had resulted in him picking up a white bread loaf from the bakery, something called a cottage loaf, and as Bucky kept it warm in the oven, he thought that it smelled incredible.

“I didn't know you could cook,” Steve said, and Bucky smirked at him.

“Yes you did,” Bucky countered, “our first date was blueberry pancakes.”

“Oh, yes,” Steve said with a soft laugh as he moved over to the little kitchen table, and he sat down with a long sigh. “I must have forgotten.”

“Are Fairies normally forgetful?” Bucky asked, his voice on the side of teasing, and Steve chuckled warmly. 

“Not as a rule, but my body is still healing, as is my mind,” Steve explained, watching Bucky intently while spoke, and Bucky gave the stew a stir to make sure that it didn't burn. “I suppose it would make sense that I would be a bit forgetful.”

“Well, now we've got all the time in the world for you to rest up and remember things, while I nurse you back to health,” Bucky said as he stepped away from the stew for a moment, and smiled when Steve chuckled at the remark.

Bucky stopped in front of Steve, then he bent forward in order to cradle Steve's head in his hands, and he pressed a gentle but firm kiss to his lips. “From now on, you're gonna be selfish, Mr Fairy, and just worry about yourself until you're back on your feet. Got it?”

“You make it sound like I have no choice,” Steve remarked, and Bucky grinned at him.

“Damn straight,” Bucky replied with a grin, and his teasing tone caused Steve to laugh. 

After Bucky had made sure that Steve was all settled, he returned to the stove, and just in time to save the stew from nearly burning. It still tasted fine though, so he didn't hesitate to serve it to Steve, who happily consumed every bite, paired with the bread Bucky had warmed up, and some of the medicine they'd brought back from Otherworld. 

It was nice to see Steve eat, and it was also nice to eat something so...homey. It made it easier to believe that Bucky was truly home again.

And, more than that, home with Steve.

~*~

It quickly became apparent that Steve wasn't up for much beyond something to eat, and Bucky helped him back up to bed, where he took to the task of changing his bandages, then settled into the bed alongside his fairy, and they used Bucky's laptop for them to watch a movie.

Except, Steve didn't seem to really understand the concept of TV ormovies, and after letting Steve scroll through Bucky's downloads, he selected, of all things, Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Bucky wasn't about to protest the glory of Audrey Hepburn gracing his screen, but he still found it sort of adorable that that was what Steve happened to pick. 

Carefully, so as to avoid Steve's still-healing injuries, Bucky rested his head on Steve's shoulder, and watched the movie. 

They spent the evening like that, watching old movie after old movie, Steve asking Bucky to pick something when he said that he wanted another one “like that”. In response, Bucky put on Roman Holiday, then switched it up a little by putting on Victor/Victoria. 

Truthfully, Bucky was pretty sure that Steve would've kept going if Bucky had let him, but it was actually starting to get late, and Bucky was exhausted. 

Steve closed up the laptop without protest when Bucky sheepishly told him this, and Steve placed it carefully on the desk from where Bucky had gotten it from while he said, “you get your comfortable clothes, Bucky, you can show me more of these tomorrow.”

Bucky chuckled, having a feeling that they were going to be watching a lot of TV and movies while Steve was laid up. 

Curiously, Bucky found that he didn't need to ask Steve what he'd meant by comfortable clothes. It was pretty obvious that he'd meant pyjamas, but Bucky couldn't decide if that was a fairy mind-reading thing, or if it was just an easy mental leap thing.

Either way, Bucky slipped into the bathroom to do all the necessary pre-bed things, while his mind, inevitably, came back to the one thing Bucky hadn't yet discussed with Steve—

The mirror. 

It wasn't that Bucky didn't want to tell Steve, but up until recently it almost felt like there hadn't been time for it. Steve had been so weak from his time in the Storm Cage, and Bucky didn't want to overwhelm him with too much, too fast. 

So, during those days on the beach in between small meals and rounds of medicine for Steve's injuries, Bucky had kept to the basics when he told Steve about his adventure, and he skirted around the mention of the mirror, even though Steve probably knew that it was there. After all, even if some of his powers hadn't returned in full, he'd proved more than once back in Otherworld that he could still hear thoughts just fine. 

Bucky glared at himself in the mirror as he pulled on an overlarge grey T-shirt and a pair of blue and grey plaid pyjama pants. He glared at himself in the mirror as he vigorously brushed his teeth, and thought fiercely, _you're going to tell him tonight. It's not fair that you haven't mentioned it._

Which was a stupid thing to think, especially when one shared their space with a literal mind-reader.

“Tell me what?” Steve asked as Bucky stepped back into the bedroom, ready for bed. 

Steve's voice was benign, unassuming, but when Bucky's eyes met the fairy's he couldn't help but notice that they appeared a little more guarded than usual.

“Part of the trials,” Bucky explained at once as he stepped towards the bed with a long, exhausted sigh. He brought with him a tall glass of water, which he set on his side of the bed next to his orange pill case. He'd dug his meds out of his backpack earlier in the evening; however, it had been so hard to judge the passage of time in Otherworld, he hadn't taken any of them, and most amazingly, he hadn't experienced any of the miserable side-effects while he'd been there.

Uncertain what this meant, Bucky responded by popping his little reddish-orange insomnia pills, chased them down with a large gulp of water, then slid into the bed next to Steve, who was still staring at Bucky intently, clearly waiting for a more detailed answer. 

“My mirror-trial...thing,” Bucky explained with a wince as he gazed at Steve. “It wasn't that I didn't want to tell you, it's just that you went through so much, and I didn't want to stress you out with this part of it until you were a little stronger. Also, I was still kind of...processing everything. It felt like a lot.”

“The mirror is a particularly cruel aspect of the trials,” Steve said with a nod, making it clear that he understood just what part of the trials Bucky was talking about. “It takes the truth and distorts it. It shows you the worst possible outcome, Bucky, and often it isn't true.”

“This felt...plausible,” Bucky hedged, biting his lip for a moment as he looked over at Steve. “Can I...think what I saw, and you tell me your opinion of it, or will that be too tiring for you?”

“I think I can handle that, Bucky,” Steve replied, and he smiled a little as he reached a hand out to touch Bucky's cheek. Thankfully, the tension between them seemed to have faded as quickly as it had come, which was a huge relief for Bucky. He didn't want to have anything come between them—least of all something like this. 

Bucky responded to Steve's sweet smile by leaning in for a kiss, and as he kissed his fairy, he brought to mind the memories of his time in the mirror. 

Steve closed his eyes and gently pulled back from the kiss, but it was less like he'd been overwhelmed by Bucky's thoughts, and more like he was thinking them over. 

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve whispered as his eyes opened again. He was gazing at Bucky like he'd done some sort of huge, heartfelt act of love, but Bucky didn't have a clue why. “All your concern...was for me?”

_Oh, yeah...that._

“Well, yeah,” Bucky said out loud, and Steve's smile widened incrementally. “I really hated the idea of leaving you all alone.”

“Our story doesn't have to end, Bucky,” Steve said, and Bucky blinked, the metaphor throwing him off for a moment, even as Steve continued to smile warmly at him. 

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, and Steve moved in to offer him a kiss. It was far less drawn-out than Bucky would have liked, and when Steve pulled back it left Bucky longing for more.

“Well...” Steve began, trailing off as he looked away from Bucky, like he was trying to gather his thoughts. “We can stay in the human world as long as you wish. Longer, if you like.”

Steve paused, his expression thoughtful, as though there was more he wanted to say. He seemed to be a little hesitant though, and Bucky's brow furrowed as he tried to work out what Steve was thinking. Unfortunately for him, Bucky hadn't exactly acquired Steve's ability for mind-reading.

“Yeah?” Bucky said at last when it looked like Steve wasn't planning on continuing. “What about after I get sick of normal life?”

“Well, then we can just...go back to Otherworld.”


	24. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next update is scheduled for January 10th. Enjoy!
> 
> **Content Warning: Implied/Referenced Past Child Abuse, Ableist Language, Implied/Referenced Past Homophobia**
> 
> **Note In Case You Typically Skip The Author's Notes: I will be taking a break for the hols, and as a result there's going to be a significant break between this update and the next one. As it says above, the next update will be January 10th. Happy holidays everyone, stay safe!**

Chapter Twenty-Four – Healing

“I...what?” Bucky breathed, even as Steve continued to smile at him benignly. “What the hell d'you mean, _go back to Otherworld?_”

“I mean that we could live there,” Steve explained, wrapping an arm around Bucky and drawing him close, the contact effectively causing Bucky's heart to flutter in his chest and momentarily forget what they were talking about. “I have a home in the Northern Court, you see,” He paused, and touched Bucky's temple with his index and middle finger, and a scene bloomed in Bucky's mind of tall, thick oak tree. Boughs extended out of the trunk like steps, winding around the tree and high up into the canopy, where an open-concept home sat on the branches, both looking like it placed no strain upon the branches, and like it was somehow _part _of the tree. To the West was a view of the sea, and to the North was a thick, deep forest, the green interspersed with pockets of colour—songbirds and butterflies dappling the verdant scene. With the view came the taste of clover honey and fresh bread on Bucky's tongue, hinting at what sort of fresh, otherworldly foods he might sample if he chose to leave with Steve for that magical place.

“If you came with me, you wouldn't age,” Steve explained almost hesitantly, his voice slowly drawing Bucky back to the present, though the taste of honey still lingered on his tongue. “We could spend as many years as you want here, or there. Whatever you choose, I want you to be happy, Bucky, and I will not try to sway you one way or the other.”

“So...that mirror-vision...it wouldn't be true, I mean, if I could stay with you,” Bucky mused as he pillowed his cheek against Steve's chest, and when he looked up at the blond, he offered Bucky a heart-melting smile.

“As I said, the mirror lies, Bucky,” Steve repeated. “The future...it's like a river. It is constantly moving. One small decision can change _everything_.”

“Like leaving with you,” Bucky filled in, and Steve chuckled warmly.

“Exactly, Bucky,” Steve replied as he bowed forward a little in order to press a kiss to the top of Bucky's head. “But only if you wish to. If you would rather lead a natural human life here, I would be happy to share it with you.”

~*~

They didn't speak much more on the notion of moving to Otherworld that night, and despite how overloaded with thoughts Bucky was, he still somehow managed to fall asleep curled up with his fairy.

The next morning Bucky was the first to wake, and he reluctantly slipped out of bed, casting a glance to the window as he went. Little wisps of snow were drifting past the window, but he could feel that it wasn't cold enough yet for it to stay on the ground.

Bucky descended the stairs silently, then headed to the kitchen as he tried to decide what to make for breakfast. He still wanted to impress Steve with some more nice, hearty food instead of a quick bowl of Lucky Charms. As a result, he found himself poaching eggs and frying ham slices, smirking to himself as he whipped up a batch of eggs benedict for the two of them.

“I am definitely going to disappoint Steve when he finds out I don't do this all the time,” Bucky muttered to himself as he vigorously whisked his second attempt at homemade hollandaise sauce, the first one dumped in the garbage when it refused to thicken properly.

“Nonsense,” a voice said from right behind him, which caused Bucky to jump and yelp, splattering his apron with bits of yellow sauce. “Nothing you do could ever be a disappointment.”

“Jeez, _warn _me next time you do that!” Bucky protested as he whirled around to see Steve, who was grinning and wearing his hobbit clothes again. The white linen shirt had a open collar that showed off a delightful section of his chest, and the breeches looked tight, and gave Bucky a perfect view of the bulge at his groin, sending his mind directly into the gutter before he could think better of it, and Steve immediately started to laugh, making it clear that he'd seen where Bucky's mind had gone.

“Not yet, my love,” Steve purred as he strode farther into the kitchen with a few steps of his long legs, gently grasped Bucky's chin in his hand, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I promise when my strength returns in full, we will _celebrate._”

“Hmm, promises, promises...” Bucky replied in a similar tone of voice, and at the same time a pot behind Bucky began to hiss, and he whirled back around as he cried, “oh, fuck!”

Bucky lowered the egg water to a simmer, while he distractedly asked, “how d'you like your eggs, Steve?”

“Um...” Steve paused, and Bucky could almost _hear _him blinking. “...From a chicken?”

“No, you dolt,” Bucky retorted with a loud, ungraceful snort of laughter. “How do you like them _cooked. _Do you like runny yolk or hard yolk?”

“...Oh.” Bucky chuckled when he heard Steve fall silent after the simple statement, and after a moment of thought he replied, “runny. Very runny.”

“You got it, babe.”

With Steve's egg request in mind, Bucky cracked two more eggs into little bowls, then poured them one by one into the simmering water. He swirled his stirring spoon deftly to catch the white and encase it around the yolk. The eggs he'd prepared earlier were all hard yolk, the way Bucky liked his eggs, but he had no issue with eating those himself while he prepared Steve's runny yolk poached eggs.

Steve, meanwhile, seemed determined to stand at Bucky's back and watch him cook, but clearly he was still too wiped out to do it for very long, and after a few minutes he reluctantly moved back to the kitchen table and sat down.

After a minute or two, Bucky fished out the eggs and carefully set them on some paper towels, then turned back to offer Steve a warm smile, hoping that the expression would reassure his fairy that he was allowed to relax, though Steve still looked notably disappointed in himself for the weakness in his still-healing body.

Bucky decided that it was probably best to _not _try and coddle Steve at the moment, and instead focused on plating the eggs benedict, setting down the toasted english muffin halves, then topped them with slices of the fried ham, followed by the eggs. The hollandaise he brought over to the table in a bowl with a spoon, figuring that Steve would probably prefer to add that part himself.

“I can't remember,” Bucky said as he laid out the plates on the table, “do you like coffee? Or would you rather have tea, or something?”

“I like coffee just fine, Bucky,” Steve replied with a warm smile, and he chuckled when Bucky visibly relaxed at his affirmation.

“Good,” Bucky said with a teasing grin, and he turned around to grab the mugs and coffee pot.

The breakfast was good, and the hollandaise, thankfully, was edible.

Steve seemed hungry that morning, polishing off four eggs benedict and two cups of coffee, which he topped off with tons of milk and sugar. Bucky had to assume that Steve had some kind of magic fairy metabolism, as he had no clue how the man could stay in such good shape with the way he ate.

If Steve saw this particular thought, he didn't remark on it, chuckling as Bucky checked over his bandages, and found that his injuries looked a _lot _better, and he was even able to remove some of them entirely, albeit only after Steve _promised _not to pick at the scabs.

After breakfast, Steve wanted to help Bucky clean up, but for all his bravado about how he felt _fine_, after drying off two plates he began to perspire and sway in place, which caused Bucky to snatch the tea towel from Steve's hands before he shunted him towards the living room.

“Just relax, baby; I'm not gonna be upset if you're too wiped out to do some dishes,” Bucky said firmly, while Steve let out a loud huff as he plopped down, and Bucky shoved the remote into his hand. “Use that to pick out a movie. As soon as I'm done I'll come watch it with you.”

Steve sank into the couch with a sour sort of look on his face, which made Bucky's heart constrict a little with guilt. He could imagine for a man like Steve, all this sitting around was slowly starting to drive him nuts.

However, knowing that wasn't enough to make Bucky take back what he'd said. Steve would heal, _then _they could talk about letting his fairy off-leash a little.

Bucky rolled his lips together, trying not to laugh at the image in his head of Steve as a sad golden retriever. He heard Steve let out a huff behind him, making him think that Steve had possibly seen the thought. When he looked back, Bucky found that Steve had settled on some old film channel that was playing _Some Like it Hot. _

Bucky didn't feel any need to complain about that one. Marilyn Monroe was a goddess, and at least his boyfriend had good taste.

~*~

As the days began to bleed together and Steve continued to slowly heal, he got more restless with each passing day. Bucky finally got around to ordering a new phone, and he texted his sister, telling her that the camping trip had gone well and he wasn't dead, but that he'd lost his phone in a 'hiking accident'.

“_Hiking accident,_” Steve echoed with a warm chuckle one evening while they sipped mugs of hot chocolate and watched _The Sound of Music _for the fourth time in a row. Apparently, Steve liked musicals even more than old movies. “That is certainly _one_ way to put it...”

“Well, what else would you call it?” Bucky teased right back, “if I told her the truth, she'd probably cart me off to a nuthouse.”

“That's the place they take people with sick heads, right?” Steve asked, turning his gaze away from the puppet show currently being acted out on-screen. “A Nut...House.”

“Yeah, but, um...that's technically not the polite way to say it,” Bucky explained hastily, suddenly realizing that if he kept this up, Steve would pick up _all _his bad habits. “The correct term is a psychiatric ward or mental hospital.”

“I see,” Steve mused as he smiled at Bucky like he'd done something that Steve liked, though he had no idea what. “Will I meet your sister someday?”

“Probably,” Bucky replied as he returned the smile. “Of course, she'll probably put the fear of God into you if you ever try to hurt me...” he trailed off and rolled his eyes. “For a baby sister, she's ridiculously protective.”

“Fear of God...” Steve mused aloud, and Bucky thought up the explanation, rather than vocalize it. Immediately, Steve chuckled warmly. “Ah, I see. She will threaten me if I do not care for you how I should.” He paused, and reached out his free hand to intertwine his fingers with Bucky's, then offered the limb a firm, reassuring squeeze. “I would _never _hurt you, Bucky.”

“I know, baby,” Bucky replied with a bashful smile, abandoning his cocoa in favour of grasping Steve's hand with both of his own. “And I trust you with every part of me, I hope you know that.”

Steve offered Bucky a sweet smile, and sipped his cocoa.

Outside, it had begun to snow.

~*~

Bucky slowly fell into the rhythm his life had taken since coming back to the real world. With no real job to speak of, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to pass his time when not tending to Steve, or how to make any money of his own. Even with the savings account his sister had set up for him still ballooning with donations and interest, Bucky wanted to do something for himself. He tried to sell his paintings online, at least the ones he'd already finished, but alas, no one seemed all that interested in his crummy attempts at artistry.

“I could always give you talent,” Steve mused one morning after Bucky had complained about his predicament over coffee and Eggos, one of those days when Bucky had backslid a little into more lazy fare, though Steve didn't seem to mind.

“_Give _me talent?” Bucky asked, quirking a brow at his boyfriend, who shrugged his shoulders in an innocent gesture.

“It is one of my abilities as a fairy,” Steve explained. “I could just..._give _you the abilities you need, if you want to improve your artistic style.”

“Doesn't that sort of thing come with a price?” Bucky asked dubiously, and Steve offered Bucky a grin that was almost _wicked_, making it fairly clear just how much better Steve was feeling lately.

“Oh, a very steep price,” Steve replied, his tone solemn, even as he continued to grin, the juxtaposition of his tone of voice and his expression pulling a laugh out of Bucky. “If I give you talent, you must become my _lover_.”

“Oh, man, no idea if I can do that...” Bucky mused teasingly, his voice causing Steve to laugh warmly. “You know, since you're _so _not my type...” he trailed off when Steve smiled at him, and Bucky forced out a small laugh. “I dunno if I could _really_ do that, though.”

Steve frowned, and his shoulders dipped in disappointment. His brow furrowed, clearly trying to work through Bucky's sudden refusal, be he seemed to struggle to come up with some kind of reason why this could be, and he finally asked, “why not?”

“It's feel like...cheating,” Bucky explained, gesturing vaguely with his fork as he spoke, but Steve's confusion seemed to only grow, and Bucky winced a little as he tried to think of how to explain it.

“Humans...we put a lot of value in the struggles of learning something,” Bucky said at last, pausing just long enough to pop a bit of his blueberry waffle into his mouth. “The triumph and pitfalls of learning a task, or a craft, it shapes us as much as anything else in our lives. It's important to go through that struggle, and not just...cheat your way to the top.”

“I see,” Steve said as he nodded his head, his shoulders relaxing a little, and his confused look was quickly replaced by one of curiosity. “And do all humans think this way?”

“Definitely not,” Bucky replied with bitter laugh. “A lot of people think cheating your way in is just fine if you don't get caught, but my parents always taught me that the suffering is part of the journey, if that makes sense.”

“Ah, like the trials that helped you save me,” Steve filled in, and Bucky smiled.

“Exactly.”

“Then I will not help you become a better painter,” Steve announced, the statement so firm that it caused Bucky to laugh. “But I will find a way to help you regardless—without magical intervention.”

Bucky wanted to say that he was happy that Steve wanted to help, but it quickly became apparent that his 'help' would come in the form of looking things up on the internet, and the poor man had the internet skills of a ninety-year-old grandma. He would pull up wildly unreliable 'tips', clickbait, and he would accidentally download things to Bucky's laptop far more often than Bucky would like, causing him to invest in some very expensive virus protection to quarantine all the stupid shit Steve stumbled across.

However, Bucky wasn't so dense as to not understand that Steve really was trying to help, and he gently tried to redirect Steve's energies to something more productive, like regaining the energy to use his magic again, if for no other reason than to show himself to Darcy so that Bucky could _finally _introduce the two of them properly.

“Oh, that?” Steve asked with a short laugh as he paused in his utter demolition of the burgers Bucky had made for dinner that night. Steve looked down at his burger, flicked his hand casually, and transformed it into a steaming pot roast.

“Well, safe to say you're feeling better,” Bucky remarked as he glanced outside, where it was raining, despite the fact that it was nearing mid-December. “And just in time for Christmas, too.”

“What's Christmas?” Steve asked curiously, and Bucky's gaze whipped back to his boyfriend with a wild grin.

“Oh, it's a pretty special day,” Bucky replied with a warm smile. “A bunch of Pagans would bring trees into their house and decorate them and exchange gifts, and Christians wanted to get in on the fun so they flubbed their beliefs to fit into the Yuletide season, and then they changed the name to Christmas. My mom gets _real _mad if I tell the real story of Christmas instead of the _Jesus's Birthday _angle.”

“Is your mother very...devout?” Steve asked curiously, and Bucky let out a derisive huff.

“She's a very _something,” _he grumbled, which caused Steve to frown, looking in that moment both sympathetic and confused. “I try to avoid her except for high holidays, to be honest. She's still mad that I decided to stop celebrating Thanksgiving, and last Christmas I lasted five minutes at her house before I left. Not even sure I'm gonna go this year, to be honest.”

Bucky said all of this very fast, thinking up the definition of Thanksgiving as he spoke so that he wouldn't have to explain it. He definitely had no plans to go home for the holidays, and was gleefully fantasizing about a quiet holiday with just him and Steve, and maybe his friends if they didn't have plans.

Steve didn't say anything about Christmas, but it was pretty obvious that Steve had seen all his thoughts about it, including the uncertainty of how his sister might react to his absence. After all she'd done for him, Bucky really wanted to do something special for her, though he hadn't come up with what that might be yet.

Steve, most likely in an attempt to cheer Bucky up, used his magic to take care of the dishes when it became clear that the topic had chased away most of Bucky's appetite, and in a vague wave of his hands, conjured them each an individually-sized key lime cheesecake, which was delicious, even if it didn't lift Bucky's mood as much as he wished that it would.

Bucky hated thinking about his Ma. Sure, she _meant well _(or so she claimed) but she was so...difficult.

Plus, she'd never exactly been _receptive_ to his coming-out. George had been the over-enthusiastic I Love My Gay Son type, going to every PFLAG meeting and even marching in the NYC Pride Parade one year, while Winnie...pretended that Bucky had never come out at all.

It hadn't been so bad when Bucky's dad had still been alive, but that _fucking cancer _had gotten him when Bucky was only _fourteen_ years old.

After his dad had gone, Winnie's drinking got even worse, so much so that Bucky just tried not to stay home any more. Sure, she'd been sober for going on ten years now, but it didn't make her any more pleasant to be around. She'd even taken to harassing his therapist since Bucky refused to talk to her, and kept trying to tell Becca about more _traditional _therapists—though one quick Google search revealed that they weren't therapists at all, but homophobic nutbags that thought they could “turn Bucky straight”.

So, Bucky was pretty happy with his decision to _not _go home for Christmas.

Even as Bucky's mind was still embroiled in bitter thoughts about his mom, Steve silently cleared up their dishes, and prepared two cups of tea manually without the use of his magic. Then, he literally picked Bucky up and carried him over to the couch, where he wrapped Bucky up in a crocheted blanket, forced the cup of tea into Bucky's hands (prepared exactly how he liked it) and he switched on the movie _To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything Julie Newmar, _as though Steve somehow just _knew _that Patrick Swayze, Wesley Snipes, and John Leguizamo in drag always cheered Bucky up.

Steve didn't say anything either way. He just held Bucky while he tried valiantly to tamp down on his misery considering his mother's shitty attitude.

About an hour into the movie, Bucky finally found himself calming down, and even smiling at the antics on-screen. His mug was empty, already cleaned and put away thanks to Steve's impeccable magical skills, and he'd untangled himself from the blanket burrito just enough to drape it over Steve as well, and their legs were tangled together pleasantly while they finished up the movie.

“Thanks for this,” Bucky said as he rolled over in Steve's arms in order to face him. “I always get...well, downright miserable when it comes to my mother.”

“Family can be...complicated,” Steve hedged, sounding more than a little nervous as he spoke, and Bucky tilted his head back a little to look up at Steve.

“Do you have family, Steve? Or...do fairies have families?”

Steve's eyes grew dark, and Bucky felt something tense up in his throat, like he'd swallowed a too-big mouthful of bread all at once. Bucky wanted to apologize for bringing up the subject at all, but truthfully, he was too scared to even _speak_. Steve's arms tightened around Bucky, almost like he was afraid that Bucky might suddenly vanish, and it was a long, uncomfortable moment before Steve finally began to speak.

“I know what humans think of my kind when it comes to children, but it's not true,” Steve began, his voice almost hesitant as he spoke, and Bucky found himself a little confused by the statement, as he hadn't exactly asked about _that_. However, he kept quiet, and just listened to what Steve had to say.

“We do not have children in the strictest sense, but we are all...foundlings,” Steve explained, gesturing vaguely with one of his hands as he spoke. “My Fairy element is the Earth, and so I was born, as it were, in a field of baby's breath. A woman named Margaret, a fire fairy, found me amongst the flowers, but fairies are not suited for parenthood. We bring our children to the natural nurturers—the humans.

“It takes hundreds and hundreds of years for fairies to grow up, and it took Margaret seven hundred years to find a family she deemed suitable for me. A husband and wife from this area of Earth where we are now, and they were named Sarah and Joseph Rogers.”

Bucky froze, and Steve frowned. Before Steve could ask, Bucky thought up the conversation that he'd had with Dorothy Lewis earlier in time—honestly Bucky could no longer remember if it had been months or _years _ago, time was so difficult to follow lately—and what had happened to poor Sarah Rogers as well as her young son. He thought hard on the details, of how the presence of the fairy child drew her to madness, and how she set her house ablaze with herself and Steve still barricaded inside it.

“So you know most of it,” Steve filled in darkly, and Bucky nodded a little. “What that legend does not say was how I walked away from that fire unscathed, and Joseph was waiting for me. He struck me with an iron fire poker, the pure iron burning me as easily as human skin to a flame. I had to flee for Otherworld.”

“Oh, _Steve..._” Bucky breathed as he lifted his hands to his mouth, and Steve smiled at him without humour.

“It's...fine, Bucky,” Steve said as he dropped his gaze to his lap. “It was a long time ago.”

“What happened to the real Steve Rogers?” Bucky asked curiously, blurting out the question before he could fully think it through. Even so, his voice much more small and meek than he would have liked; Steve's hardened look was making him nervous.

“There was never a Steve Rogers, _I _am Steve Rogers,” Steve snapped, then grimaced before Bucky even had a chance to react to his harsh tone. “I'm sorry, Bucky, that was...uncalled for.”

Steve's hasty apology left Bucky feeling a little dizzy, but he nodded nonetheless, and offered Steve a reassuring smile.

“Hey, it's okay,” Bucky offered as he reached a hand out to Steve's, and he gripped Bucky's fingers like a lifeline. “Just...explain what you mean by there being _no Steve Rogers_.”

“When we find a baby fairy who needs to be raised, we use our mind to implant the idea of the pregnancy into the existence of the parents,” Steve replied, much more patiently this time. “They will recall the pregnancy, though it never really happened. The mind of Sarah Rogers was particularly strong, and it ended...badly. I was taken back to Otherworld as an orphan, and I was raised by the Earth Court. When I came of age, I joined the Sentinels we call Shield. I wanted to protect the humans and my kind from crossing paths unnecessarily. Most foundlings are raised within the Court now—my ordeal was the tipping point for many to refrain from seeking out humans to raise our children.”

“I just...I don't get it,” Bucky explained hesitantly, hoping that his words wouldn't offend Steve in some way like they clearly had at first. “Why send away your children at all? Why even trust _me_ if you had such a bad experience with humans in the past?”

“Well, to be fair, I didn't trust you at first,” Steve said teasingly, and Bucky offered him a meek smile, especially when he knew that wasn't entirely true. Ever since he'd come to this little town Steve had been protecting him, even if Bucky assumed that his house had been haunted initially.

“Yeah, I caught you, didn't I?” Bucky replied instead, and Steve chuckled warmly as his hand tensed in Bucky's.

“You did, and in the process, you captured my heart, Bucky.”

Bucky smiled warmly, his heart seeming to swell at the words, and he opened his mouth to respond to Steve's sweet sentiment, but Steve got there first.

“To answer your question, most Fairies just don't know _how _to deal with children,” Steve explained with a slight grimace, like he was somehow embarrassed on behalf of his own species. “Many don't know how to empathize with the needs of a small child, and will end up treating them like...a small adult. My forebears always found that it was safer for our children to be raised by beings who had the right kind of empathy, but after me...well...our whole society changed to make space for the children who needed us.”

“Oh,” Bucky replied, trying to envision it, like how some creatures in nature didn't stick around after laying eggs, and the babies were just on the own. It made its own kind of sense, even if it still felt a little depressing to Bucky, and he found himself privately relieved that that practise appeared to no longer be a thing.

“I guess it's just another way to...be,” Bucky said, and Steve smiled at him in an approving sort of way. He parted his lips to say something else, the curve of his lips telling Bucky that he was probably about to change the subject to something more pleasant...

And at the same moment, Bucky's phone let out a loud buzz, thoroughly interrupting their moment.

Bucky let out a long groan of frustration, his head tilting back at the poor timing. He had half a mind to just ignore the damn thing, but by the same token, he just _knew _that he was one of those people that boomers mocked for going nuts if he couldn't check the notifications on his phone.

“Sorry,” Bucky said with a grimace, but Steve merely smiled as Bucky grabbed the phone to check it, and his eyebrows raised in surprise at the message.

“It's from Darcy,” Bucky said, without Steve having to ask. “She says we need to meet her at the town entrance. And to bring shovels and a pickaxe.”

“Oh.” Steve blinked. “Why?”

“Well, apart from a ploy to finally meet you, since your powers are better, I think she's planning to have us help her dig up the fairy-repelling barricade around the town,” Bucky explained with a shrug, and Steve chuckled warmly.

“That sounds fun,” he said. “Let's go.”


	25. Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I accidentally ended the story before I planned to :x In short, I was writing away and then...the end happened. I showed my beta, and they agreed that that was the end of the story. Oops? BUT! I am definitely going to be writing an epilogue for all the things I wasn't able to fit into the main story, so that will be posted, as usual, two weeks from now, on January 24th. I hope you all had a lovely holiday season in spite of the craziness that is our lives right now. 
> 
> Once again my region is going into full lockdown (plus a curfew this time!), and since I usually update at my mom's I am hoping that that will not hinder my schedule, but we'll see what happens. If there's an upset, I will be sure to post it on Tumblr, so you can follow me there under jbankai89 :) And now, please enjoy this final chapter, and thank you all so much for following it!

Chapter Twenty-Five – Forever

The night was dark and crisp. Everything seemed to be suffused in a wintry silence, of a kind that only seemed to happen in small towns or on empty country roads. Bucky had donned what felt like half a dozen layers and he was  _ still  _ cold, while Steve had thrown on one simple jacket, a scarf, and a pair of gloves, and he didn't seem at all bothered by the temperature outside. 

“Is it some kind of fairy thing, having super duper...thick skin?” Bucky asked, not quite sure if  _ thick skin  _ was really the right term for what he meant, but Steve seemed to understand anyway, even as he laughed warmly at Bucky's question. Bucky didn't feel offended by Steve's amusement, though—it was nice to hear Steve laugh after everything he'd been though. The warm, deep sound washed over Bucky like standing under a blisteringly hot shower, or the feeling of a square of good quality chocolate on his tongue. 

“I have always been someone who got warm easily, even without a beautiful human as my lover,” Steve said with a roguish wink that caused Bucky to snort. 

“Well, it's good to know I'm dating my very own walking, talking Calcifer,” Bucky mused, and grinned at Steve's utterly perplexed expression, which seemed to worsen even after Bucky thought up the context for it.

Luckily, they came upon Darcy and Thor before Bucky could think up more creative names for his fairy, both of whom were wielding huge hammers and ice picks, while Jane was standing back and watching with a look of amusement on her face. 

“Ah, Bucky, and Bucky's Boyfriend! It is good to see you both!” Thor called out happily, his booming voice seeming to echo across the empty road. Bucky smiled sheepishly in response to Thor's greeting, while Steve looked politely perplexed, even as Darcy eyed him up and down, her gaze an odd mélange of jealousy and approval, like she was impressed by Bucky snagging such an attractive boyfriend. 

“Hi, Thor,” Bucky filled in as they approached, “ this is Steve. W+hy are we all standing at the town's entrance?”

“I brought everyone's favourite Beefcake because I thought we might need a little extra muscle,” Darcy filled in without Bucky having to ask, and Thor immediately grinned broadly in response to Darcy's remark. “We're gonna dig up the road and get rid of the... _ boyfriend repellent _ .” 

Immediately, Bucky had about a million questions. Did Darcy blab his and Steve's secret to Thor and Jane? Did they believe it? Did they seriously think digging up asphalt in the winter was even  _ possible? _

And yet, before Bucky could utter a word, Steve stepped forward, the movement seemingly purposeful rather than hesitant. As Steve's foot landed upon the snow, like a nature documentary on fast-forward, the snow disappeared in a long line across the road, the edges bursting with flowers and green grass like it was the height of summer, save for a sharp, deliberate line across the road, showing them precisely where the iron must be. 

“Ah, so Darcy was right, then,” Thor observed with a kind smile, and, shockingly, without even a hint of surprise in his eyes. “You are one of the Fair Folk.”

Steve gazed at Thor and he smiled, in a way that almost like he knew something about Thor that the others didn't. 

“I am, but of a different court than the ones you know,” Steve replied simply, and Thor nodded in understanding.

“Yes, I can see that,” Thor replied with an appreciative nod. “The ones my family paid homage to were...different.”

“Thor's family worships Scandinavian Fairies,” Jane filled in, her face a little more red than usual, making it difficult to tell if she was embarrassed about that particular fact or not. “I...I just thought it was...you know... _ his belief,  _ but...uh...”

She trailed off, and Steve smiled at her kindly before he stepped back from Thor and walked over to her, and offered her his hand in greeting.

Shyly, she accepted it, before Steve murmured, “it's all right, Miss Foster, it's culture shock—it happens to the best of us.”

Bucky snorted loudly at Steve's comment, and that seemed to shatter the vague tension that still hung in the air as the group all laughed together—even Jane.

As a group, they all began to chisel into the road, though the only two who made any kind of actual dent in the stone were Steve and Thor. On top of that, Steve couldn't get as close to the iron as Thor could. If that wasn't enough of a blow to their efforts, it was also becoming abundantly clear that Bucky was about as useful to their efforts as a screen door in a submarine. 

This realization was more than a little embarrassing for Bucky, as there was once a time where he could bench a fair amount of weight without breaking a sweat. Clearly, his time as a civilian had made him a bit... _ flabby. _

Of course, this was not literal flab—he'd kept himself in fairly good shape since leaving the army—but his physique had definitely lost most of its useful muscle, which was proving highly embarrassing when he was placed next to two beefcakes like Steve and Thor. 

“Too bad you're not a fire fairy,” Bucky tried to joke a little later when they stepped back to take a break and come up with a new strategy—even with the added muscle, digging up a road without power tools wasn't exactly an easy job. 

“Why?” Steve asked curiously, and Bucky grinned at him.

“Well, maybe if your element was fire, you could just...melt the road.”

Bucky had expected Steve to laugh in agreement to Bucky's dumb suggestion, and as a result he found himself markedly startled when he glanced up to Steve, and saw him grinning like he'd come up with a brilliant—or phenomenally stupid—plan. 

“Bucky has given me an idea,” Steve announced to the group. “Everyone please stand back.”

The group was quick to obey, it amazing Bucky how Steve could command everyone with so few words. He opted to not comment on it however, given that his focus was on Steve, watching as Steve stepped towards the vague dent they'd made in the asphalt, and he planted his hand in the soil to the right of it. His fingers were splayed wide, like someone who was intent on leaving their hand print behind, and he closed his eyes as he began to whisper something.

Within the span of a minute or so, a tiny sprout popped up between Steve's splayed fingers. As the group watched, like with the melting snow before, the tree grew rapidly, the tall, bushy evergreen shooting up in the sky to almost twenty feet in the same time it took Bucky to whisper, “holy  _ fuck _ ,” before he let out a high, undignified yelp when the asphalt suddenly split open with a sharp crack.

Thor was the first to react, and he loped over to the cracked stone, a sledgehammer held aloft in his hand almost like a weapon, and as he stopped at the edge, a tree root rose from the earth, and planted a long iron rod into his hand before it disappeared back into the soil. 

“Still wish I was a fire fairy?” Steve called teasingly to Bucky as he straightened up, and Bucky let out a loud, bark-like laugh.

“No, definitely not,” Bucky replied in between laughs as he hurried over to Steve, while the others had congregated at the massive pothole Steve had created, and began to fish out more pieces of iron, making it clear that the rod of iron that the tree had  _ handed to Thor _ hadn't been the only thing down there. “That was  _ awesome.  _ Why didn't you do that at the start?”

“In truth, because I didn't think of it,” Steve admitted with a chuckle. “You were my inspiration, Bucky.”

Bucky felt himself blush furiously at the comment, but the biting chill easily covered it up, making him just look a little more cold than usual. Luckily, the others seemed to be finished digging through the huge crack in the road before Steve could think of something even more embarrassing to say, and the couple stepped back over to them as they all straightened up.

“I think we got it all,” Darcy announced as she dusted her dirty hands on the front of her jeans, leaving brown smudges in their wake. “The only test left is to see if Steve can actually walk into town.”

Darcy exchanged a pointed look with Bucky, indicating that she meant to include him in that statement too, but at least had enough sense to not say it in front of Thor and Jane. Bucky was grateful for that, as Thor would probably talk about it loudly, while Jane would probably ask him a million sciencey questions that she wouldn't completely realize were very personal.

Or, possibly, she wouldn't care, given that her interests were in Astrophysics, not Biology. 

Either way, Bucky was grateful that Darcy didn't bring it up, and Bucky smiled while he reached down to take Steve's hand. 

“Well?” Bucky asked him gently, “ready for the big test?” 

Steve responded by squeezing Bucky's hand, and together they moved towards the fissure in the road. 

If Bucky was being honest with himself, he really wanted to close his eyes as he walked over that threshold. Maybe it would make it feel more real, and less like he was meandering down the street as though everything was normal. 

Unfortunately, he was honestly afraid of tripping on that huge crack, and he knew that Darcy would gleefully tease him forever if he face-planted during such an important moment. 

Instead Bucky kept his eyes firmly open, and his eyes on his feet. This felt even more nerve-racking than the act of accepting his high-school diploma, though he didn't fall until  _ after  _ that— by doing a ninety-degree turn away from the principal, where he promptly fell off the stage. 

No, Bucky  _ really  _ didn't want something like that to happen again, and as they stepped over together, Bucky looked up to share a smile with Steve before they both turned to the others, who promptly began to cheer. 

_ “You made it!” _

The voice sounded not from the group, but somewhere behind them, and when Steve and Bucky turned in unison, Bucky saw Natasha and Clint meandering towards them. 

Clint was bundled up in a big winter parka and scarf, while Natasha was wearing form-fitting jeans and a black tank top with wide shoulder straps. Her cheeks weren't even flushed as her red hair whipped around her in the snowy, wintry wind, and she was smirking at the pair of them. 

But perhaps the strangest part of the whole scene wasn't Natasha's lack of clothing, or how she was somehow not freezing to death in her outfit, but rather how Steve had reacted to her appearance. 

He was staring at Natasha like he  _ knew  _ her.

“It has been a long time, Shield Maiden,” Steve said, and Natasha's smirk seemed to widen. She took a purposeful step forward, and the air around her seemed to warp, and in the span of an instant her clothing changed to a long, flowing red dress with a sweeping neckline. A belt around her waist carried small round bottles seemingly made of glass, and filled with brightly coloured liquids. The snow at her feet melted away wherever she stepped, and the brooch affixed to the front of her bodice was some kind of oval stone, not red, but a deep green with flecks of colour in it that Bucky couldn't identify at a distance.

To Bucky's untrained eye she looked like princess, but he didn't think that was what she was, both from how Steve reacted to seeing her, and the title he'd addressed her with— _ Shield Maiden. _

“It's been a long time, Steve,” Natasha said as she finally reached them, and she laid her hands over Steve's in a fond gesture while she smiled at him. “I'm glad you are finally able to return here in love, rather than hide away from of the malice of humans.”

“We've missed you at Court,” Steve offered, averting his eyes as he spoke, like he was almost ashamed to say so out loud. “I have, at least.”

“I have abandoned the notion of Court long ago, Steve,” she replied smoothly. “My life is here now.”

“Speaking of  _ here,”  _ Darcy interjected, peeping out from behind Bucky like she thought Natasha might suddenly attack them, “how  _ are  _ you even here? I thought the iron would keep fairies from getting into the town.”

“Iron repels malice,” Natasha explained, speaking with much more patience than she usually reserved when speaking to Darcy. “I am, elementally speaking, a Fire Fairy, but I am also a healer. The iron would not seek to burn me.” She paused, then added, “Steve has never been the type to sow malice or discontent, but he is still a warrior. The iron would repel him by its very nature regardless.”

“So...iron isn't a universal fairy repellent, then?” Bucky asked curiously, and Natasha smiled before she rolled her shoulders, and just as suddenly she was back in her normal clothing from before, but with a parka on over her tank top. Privately, Bucky didn't think she actually needed to coat for warmth, but she was probably wearing it to blend in. After all, most people would be _real confused _to see someone out in a tank top on such a cold night.

“I think we're gonna be talking for a while,” she said instead of giving Bucky a real answer. “Come on, let's all go and get a drink.”

~*~

The bar was busier than Bucky would have liked, but he supposed if they planned to have a super secret conversation about fairies and magic, at least they were less likely to be overheard.

_ And any eavesdroppers would probably just think we're really into D&D or something... _

His thought caused Steve to eye him oddly while Natasha snorted, and Clint has scurried off to the bar to order drinks for everyone—boilermaker for Thor, beer for Bucky, Darcy, Jane, and himself, straight vodka for Natasha, and white wine for Steve.

It almost looked funny, watching Steve sip on his white wine daintily, savouring every tiny mouthful, and a few of the fragile 'men' at the pool table had definitely noticed and were laughing, but neither did they have the balls to actually mock Steve to his face over his drink of choice.

“So,” Bucky said once they'd all settled in, turning away from the asshats at the pool table just as Clint dropped a basket of wings in the middle of the table, and Bucky levelled his gaze with Natasha. “You've been a fairy this whole time, and didn't tell anybody.”

“I knew,” Clint piped up with a cheeky grin, and Natasha huffed before she elbowed Clint gently. 

“How  _ long  _ have you known?” Darcy interjected before Bucky could say anything else, and Clint exchanged a mystified look with Natasha. 

“A few...hundred years? Babe, when did we first hook up?”

“1626, if memory serves,” Natasha mused as she sipped her drink, then smiled and crossed her legs while she leant against Clint's side. “He was deer-hunting for his family in the nearby settlement. Well, the foolish young man he was...he climbed a tree to get a better view, the bough he was standing on snapped, and he broke both his legs when he landed. I heard his cries, and helped him. We were married in the human way about a month later.”

“A month is a bit...quick,” Jane mused, raising her eyebrows at Natasha, who merely smirked, and sipped her drink again.

“Not in those times. Clint was pretty eager to share a life with me, and so I shared mine with him, in a similar way that you did with Bucky,” Natasha said as she nodded to Steve. 

“How does it work...the other way around?” Bucky asked, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was already regretting them. He did  _ not  _ like the idea of picturing his friends like  _ that. _

“Damn, Bucky, your brain is  _ gross _ ,” Clint suddenly proclaimed, and Bucky felt his entire face burn red as the rest of the table burst into laughter. Even Steve was laughing, though it was closer to a warm, affectionate chuckle as he looped one arm around Bucky's shoulders and hugged him close.

“There are many ways to extend a human's life,” Steve explained as the table calmed down. “I knew of some, such as bloodletting and sharing of one's life energies...unfortunately I didn't know of the way that changed you.”

“Steve's got magic spunk,” Darcy filled in with a wicked grin, which caused Thor's eyes to widen, while Jane wrinkled her nose and hissed an admonishment at her friend, and Bucky buried his face in his hands. 

“Thanks for sharing, Darcy,” Bucky said from behind his hands, and when he peeked out between his fingers, he saw that his friend was still grinning at him.

“If we can please get the subject away from our sex life, I'd really appreciate that,” Steve said with a note of sarcasm in his voice, and Clint laughed warmly at his tone.

“Yeah, so, Nat shared her life energies with me, and so we could come and go from Otherworld whenever we wanted. We'd stay as a married couple for a few decades until it'd become obvious that we weren't ageing, then go off to Otherworld for a while until everyone we knew was dead, then come back,” Clint explained, gesturing with his beer as he spoke. “She and I always avoided the courts in Otherworld, we mostly kept to ourselves. We liked the human world better, anyway.”

“But...wasn't it hard?” Bucky asked curiously. “Leaving everyone behind, I mean?”

“It was the first time,” Clint admitted with a wince. “I mean, my family was all gone by the time we left—smallpox and typhus got 'em—but saying goodbye to their graves was hard. I wasn't sure if they'd still be there when we got back. After that, it got easier.”

“But...” Bucky trailed off and bit his lip while he tried to figure out how to form his question. “I mean...instead of creating a new life for yourselves every single time, couldn't you...I don't know, use magic to make yourselves look like you're ageing? I mean, Steve sort of...accidentally gave me a new arm, and in public it just looks like a really fancy prosthetic.”

Bucky lifted his arm and flexed the metallic-looking fingers as evidence, and Steve smiled at him fondly, like something about his response was making him happy.

“Steve seems to give you a lot of things he didn't mean to,” Darcy observed dryly, and Natasha laughed warmly.

“It's not his fault,” Natasha said with a fond smile as she gazed across the table at the other fairy. “He's a Child of Earth. He makes things grow.”

“Hopefully an arm is the only thing he'll be able to make me  _ grow _ ,” Bucky said pointedly, making Steve choke on his wine, while Natasha threw her head back and howled with laughter.

“Even an Earth Fairy would not be able to change you so fundamentally, Bucky, don't worry,” Natasha replied between giggles. “And to answer your question, maintaining a glamour that is constantly changing and progressing can be difficult to maintain. Humans can be much more perceptive than we give them credit for, and if we looked fifty one day, and forty the next, it would arouse suspicion. It's easier to slip away until we are forgotten, then create a new life for ourselves.”

“That makes sense,” Darcy mused before Bucky was able to respond.

“Yes,” agreed Thor. “Many of us would not notice, but should a nosy person get too curious, it would be all too easy for them to arouse suspicion of an entire town, especially in days long past.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed at last, and he shifted a little closer to Steve, who immediately coiled a protective arm around Bucky's middle. 

The conversation was giving him a  _ lot  _ to think about.

Even later, when he and Steve bid their friends goodbye, and Steve and Natasha shared a warm hug, she pointedly welcoming him to the town, Bucky couldn't manage more than a timid smile as he bid goodbye to everyone, clapping hands with Clint and Thor, and hugging everyone else. 

Steve and Bucky walked home in silence, though far from an awkward silence, it was peaceful and comforting. The softly drifting snow around them certainly helped maintain that peaceful atmosphere, and Bucky smiled as he leant against Steve's warm side, not even caring that it made their gait a little bit awkward. It didn't seem to matter so much when he was with Steve.

As they stepped over the huge crack in the road, it knitted itself back together. When Bucky chanced a glance up at Steve's face, he saw the faintest pinch in his forehead, as though he was concentrating really hard, making it clear that he was the one fixing the broken stone. 

It was pushing close to midnight by the time they finally got home, and Bucky found himself surprised by how late it had gotten. Where had the time gone? Had they really been hanging out and talking for that long?

Bucky honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so  _ comfortable  _ with a group of people that he wasn't checking his phone obsessively, waiting for enough time to pass that it would be considered reasonable to announce his departure. Somehow, impossibly, he hadn't checked his phone  _ once. _

In a way, Bucky supposed that that was what it was like to have  _ real  _ friends.

The pair meandered upstairs together after pulling off their boots and coats, seeming to decide without words that it was definitely time for bed. They performed their usual nightly rituals, and then slid into their respective sides of the bed before Bucky slotted himself into Steve's side, and pillowed his head against one of the fairy's biceps.

“It's been a long...weird sort of day, hasn't it?” Bucky asked softly, and Steve chuckled while he regarded Bucky for a moment, then planted a gentle kiss on his lips. 

“In a way,” Steve agreed, his voice just as soft as Bucky's was, despite the lack of need for it—it wasn't like there was anyone in the house that they might disturb. “I was surprised to see Natasha. I haven't seen her in many years.”

“Good surprised or bad surprised?” Bucky asked curiously, and he felt a warmth pool in his chest when Steve smiled, a wistful, faraway smile that Bucky was happy to see on his boyfriend's face—a look of genuine happiness. 

“Good surprised,” Steve confirmed as he inched closer to Bucky again, and Bucky laughed as he accepted the kiss. “They certainly gave you a lot to think about with their story, didn't they?”

“Yeah, I dunno if I could put up with you for four hundred and something years...” Bucky mused, his fingers teasing their way across Steve's expansive chest as he spoke, and his remark earned him one of Steve's warm, captivating laughs. 

“Hmm...how many years could you  _ put up with me,  _ then?” Steve asked, and Bucky laughed, if for no other reason than he had  _ no idea  _ what to say. It had been a long time since he felt so light and so at peace with everything around him. 

“Probably as long as you can put up with me,” Bucky said at last, and Steve smiled down at him, his expression softening to something warm and loving.

“So forever, then,” Steve said, and Bucky laughed again. 

“Forever sounds good to me.”


	26. Epilogue – Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And, here we are, at the end. Thank you guys so much for giving this little fic a chance. Fae lore is nowhere near as popular as it should be, as far as I'm concerned, and I'm so grateful that it garnered some interest. Thank you for reading!

Epilogue – Home

Life was _supposed _to have ups and downs.

After all, that was how life was supposed to _work_.

And yet, following that day so very long ago when Bucky, Steve, and their friends dismantled that barrier keeping Steve from the town, life became nothing short of _idyllic._

The seasons took on the same perfection Bucky had only ever seen in the movies. His friend group tightened around him, letting Steve and Bucky be themselves without concern that outsiders would be clued in on what they really were—Bucky's secret slipped out early to those outside _the know_ in those early weeks, and Jane and Thor happily kept Bucky's Not-Entirely-Human identity quiet, though they didn't let Darcy have too much to drink with strangers around anymore—just in case she blurted it out again.

Every day, Steve and Bucky did what they wanted. Sometimes they stayed in. Other times, they took long, leisurely walks through the woods. If they veered into Otherworld, they would stay for a few weeks, and only an hour or so would have passed in the human realm. Every time, no one had ever even known that they'd been gone.

The first meeting with his sister was something that Bucky had managed to put off for the few short weeks leading up to Christmas. Something had occurred between Becca and his mother that year, something _terrible, _but Becca never would tell Bucky what it was. All she would ever say was that she intended to spend her Christmases _away _from the family homestead from now on.

It certainly helped that Steve and Becca got along like a house on fire. Becca would happily teach Steve card games, then absolutely _demolish _him at Texas Hold'em and rake in mountains of Hershey Kisses, which they'd been using for betting chips.

“_This one can stay,” _Becca had joked when Steve went to bed early, and Bucky and Becca played Santa, filling stockings and overloading the empty space under the tree, before they settled in to drink some spiked hot chocolate with a healthy dose of Bailey's.

“_You always like the ones you can beat at card games,” _Bucky had responded teasingly, and Becca answered with a wicked grin of her own.

That had been a good Christmas, and really only something of a portent of things to come. Bucky gradually became only vaguely aware of the passage of time around him, marked out largely by its milestones. Steve called it time-blindness, that feeling when Bucky wasn't wholly certain if it had been a day, month, or year that had slipped them by.

And the only markers Bucky _truly _noticed with any sort of real clarity, was his loved ones as they slipped away into what Steve called _the Grey Twilight_.

The peaceful little village was largely untouched by catastrophes of the world with each decade that slipped by. The doomsday so many humans predicted never came, only life progressed, while Bucky and Steve stood still.

They did their best to move with the times, but one by one, their loved ones would disappear.

Thor and his brother maintained the grocery store well into their eighties, when Loki's daughter took up the mantle, a snarky, sarcastic girl called Hel. Thor was convinced that Hel would drive the business into the ground, but it thrived under her, enabling Thor to retire to Hawai'i, where Jane was still watching the stars.

Darcy divided her time between running the local Internet Café and writing dozens of books about fae lore, which she published online. In her seventy-six years, she had become known as the foremost authority on the subject, though she never felt inclined to leave the little village to teach at a University. She was happy with her Café, her husband, and her dog.

Nat and Clint drifted in and out of place over the years, coming and going as they pleased. As their friends aged, they took on new identities as the niece and nephew of Darcy, and they were vague enough about their lineage that no one ever questioned it. Everyone just accepted the familial connection, while Darcy teased and joked with Nat like nothing had changed.

The hardest part, for Bucky, at least, was Becca's passing.

She lived until she was ninety-six. She joined her husband in the ground, who had died some fifteen years earlier, and she was survived by three children, nine grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren.

At the funeral, Bucky introduced himself as a third cousin, and he exchanged a wry smirk with his sixty-two year old niece, Amelia, who was the only one of Becca's children who knew the truth about his identity.

After the burial, Bucky stood there for a long while, wiping tears from his eternally youthful face. Ninety-eight years old, and he still looked to be around twenty-eight. Steve held him in silence, never trying to coax Bucky away from the resting place sooner than Bucky felt ready to, and they stood there well into the night. Steve shooed away the spirits that tried to bother them while Bucky mourned.

At sunrise, Bucky whispered, “I think it's time.”

Steve nodded, and moved to press a kiss to his love's lips while he responded, “all right, Buck.”

~*~

Even though Bucky looked young, he _felt_ his age. He felt that fatigue, that need that it was time to go. Around him his friends no longer knew him, or were gone. Darcy kept forgetting who he was, or where she was when he visited, and it hurt more than actually losing her to that Grey Twilight. Nat and Clint did their best to help, but it hurt them as much as him to see the ravages of time lay waste to their dear friend.

“We'll stay with her,” Clint promised when Bucky had tried (and failed) to explain to Darcy where he was going. “Until the end, I promise. Going to Otherworld will breathe new life into you, and one day returning to the human world won't hurt as much.”

“I hope you're right,” Bucky replied, leaning slightly to the side as he spoke, and watched as Natasha spoke consolingly to Darcy, who seemed so desperately confused. She had her good days and bad days, and today, unfortunately, happened to be a bad day. “Right now it hurts like hell.”

“Eternity isn't for the weak,” Clint agreed, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “It can be hard at times like this, but Otherworld is...timeless. It helps to smooth out those aches into a clean slate. You don't forget anything, but the hurt hurts less, if that makes sense. Going there for a while really helps to clear your head.”

“And it'll be a new place,” Bucky filled in with a smile, “whole new adventure for us.”

“And we'll keep the porch light on until you're ready to come back,” Clint added, “which is easy when your fairy is a fire element.”

Bucky snorted, and glanced back into Darcy's room. She seemed to have settled down, and Nat was gently stroking her wisps of white hair, while Clint added, “just...be careful when you cross over, all right?”

“Be careful of what, exactly?” Bucky asked curiously as he looked back at Clint, but instead of seeing the teasing look he expected, Clint looked _serious._

“When time wears you out like this, it can be a little...um...confusing, I guess, when you go back to Otherworld. Nat calls it _the Funerary Walk. _You sort of, have to shed that human weariness as you cross over, and the magic can sort of...pull you in all directions. It's really disorienting. It's like...dying so you can live again. Just hold tight to Steve when it happens, and remember that it's supposed to happen, and it doesn't mean anything...um...bad.”

Truthfully, Bucky had no clue how to respond to that. He was so worn out already, he didn't really feel scared at the mention of this _Funerary Walk..._thing. He was too tired to be scared.

~*~

When Bucky got back from Darcy's house, he found Steve checking over the bags they'd packed. They'd accumulated so much in their years together, but apart from clothing and his scrapbooks, neither of them really didn't felt much need to bring anything else.

“How was Darcy?” Steve asked as Bucky shut the door, and Bucky let out a long sigh.

“Bad day,” he replied with a frown while he watched Steve straighten up and stride over to him, and the fairy looped his arms around Bucky's waist before he pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I'm sorry, Buck,” Steve murmured, “that had to be hard.”

“Her bad days are always hard,” Bucky said as he rested his head against Steve's shoulder. “I just wish it wasn't _today._”

Steve hummed in understanding, though he didn't speak, like he just _knew _that Bucky wouldn't want to push their departure back just to wait for Darcy to have a good day. Those were getting rarer and rarer the more time that passed, and Bucky felt so _tired. _They needed to leave as soon as possible. The lure of Clint's promise that Otherworld would help him feel better felt like the only thing that was keeping him afloat right now, and he desperately _needed _that new horizon.

Bucky made dinner that night. He made the most human thing he could think of—mac and cheese. From the box. With too much milk, and topped with barbecue sauce how he liked it, while Steve ate his plain, and did his level best not to make a face at Bucky's serving, though he didn't exactly succeed on that front, and Bucky found himself laughing for the first time in days while he teased Steve at his utter _lack _of a poker face.

~*~

“Bucky?” Steve whispered later, while they watched _My Fair Lady _and ate oreos.

“Yeah?” Bucky replied in the same soft sort of tone as he tilted his head back to look up at Steve from his position of lying on the couch with his cheek against Steve's wonderfully muscled thigh.

“Can we...tonight, I mean...could we...”

Steve blushed, and Bucky chuckled warmly. He only got this flustered when there was _one _thing on his mind, and Bucky didn't need to be a telepath to know that. If nothing else, it definitely helped to banish his ever-growing fatigue.

“Want me to top you? In our bed, one last time?” Bucky purred, and Steve's face turned an adorable, bright pink. Bucky waited, grinning, and watched as Steve turned even more pink, like he'd suddenly come down with a bad sunburn, and Bucky bit into another cookie while he waited for Steve to answer his question.

“Yeah,” Steve managed at last, his voice rough, and Bucky smiled as he sat up, and pressed a gentle kiss to Steve's lips. He tasted sweetly of coffee and chocolate, and Bucky let out a soft, blissful sigh.

“I think I can manage that, _doll_,” Bucky purred teasingly, and Steve laughed at the term of endearment.

“But after the movie,” Steve filled in, and Bucky grinned in agreement.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied as he tossed the rest of the cookie into his mouth. “_After._”

~*~

As though it was any other night, Steve and Bucky finished watching their movie, finished their after-dinner snacks, and Bucky carried the dishes to the kitchen to put into the dishwasher. He flicked on the device, then headed upstairs. Steve seemed to have finished his pre-bedtime rituals already, and as Bucky peeked into the bedroom, he grinned when he saw his beautiful fairy spread out on top of the bedspread, naked, and ready for him.

His mouth watering a little, Bucky hastened to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and washed his face, and very _nearly_ splashed on a little cologne, before he remembered that Steve seemed to prefer him without artificial scent, and decided against it.

As Bucky strode into the bedroom Steve sat up on his knees and placed a hand around the base of his cock, as though to draw Bucky's attention to it. He was hard already, a sweet flush of red suffused his face, dusting its way down to the top of his chest, the way it did only when he was _desperately _aroused.

Bucky smirked, and responded to Steve's submissive pose by stripping off his shirt, and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. He missed, but neither man cared very much. Steve inhaled a little upon seeing Bucky without his shirt, and the lustful look in Steve's eyes made Bucky doubly aware of his own body; how his skin stretched over his bones, how his remaining clothing touched and moved with him...it was overwhelming. Rarely was Steve so..._vulnerable. _When he was, Bucky just wanted to take care of him completely; fully. He wanted to wrap Steve up in his arms and make sure nothing bad ever touched him.

He wanted to be with this man until the very end of time.

“I want to do something memorable for our last night here,” Steve murmured as he reached out for the catch on Bucky's jeans, drawing him to the edge of the bed before he unclasped the button and he carefully unzipped the garment. The jeans were so tight that they stayed in place, and Steve dug his thumbs into the waistband of both Bucky's jeans and briefs, sliding the garments down to his knees before gravity did the rest, and Bucky stepped out of the garments fluidly.

“Yeah?” Bucky whispered as he used his feet to slide out of his socks, enabling him to stay relatively still with his eyes firmly fixed on Steve. “What sort of something special?”

“I want to..._give you a show._”

Steve didn't explain himself beyond that simple statement, but something about his tone caused Bucky's mouth to go dry, and he nodded robotically as Steve took his hands, and gently guided him onto the bed.

The bed was not the bed that had come with the house. In their time together they'd been quick to discover that a queen-sized bed was simply just _not big enough _for two men of their heights and builds. Bucky had splurged after they _miraculously _won a tidy sum on a scratch ticket, and bought them an Alaska King—and then they promptly had to renovate the bedroom to make the damn thing _fit._

It was all worth it however, when they could do things like _this_, without worrying that either one of them would fall off the bed and ruin the mood.

_...again._

Steve guided Bucky to the head of the bed, and he eased back against the mountain of pillows, curling up a little to give Steve more room, licking his lips as he watched Steve position himself at the end of the bed, his eyes hooded and cock almost _purple _with want.

Bucky wanted to ask Steve what his plan was, what this _show _entailed, but by the same token, he didn't want to spoil it by asking. He licked his lips a little, that single swipe of his tongue seeming to stir something in Steve, and Bucky bit back a smirk when he saw the fairy's cock visibly _twitch. _

This time, Bucky fought the urge to smile. Even after all these years, it was nice to see that Steve was still so deeply affected by him.

Steve turned his back to Bucky. Bucky did his best not to complain about not being able to see Steve's face as he watched the fairy get up on his knees again, his muscles straining a little in his thighs and ass, like he was nervous, or trying carefully to maintain the position. Steve flicked his right hand like he was trying to brush away an annoying insect, and his index and middle fingers became shiny with lubricant.

Oh. _Oh._

_That _kind of a show.

Bucky's mouth had gone very dry and his cock _very _hard as he watched Steve flex his lubricated fingers once, as though to brace himself, which was just _stupid _as far as Bucky was concerned—with how often Bucky fucked Steve, he _hardly _needed to be nervous about it.

“I'm nervous because I rarely prepare myself for _your _pleasure like this,” Steve said pointedly, and despite his harsh tone, Bucky could just _tell _that Steve wasn't really mad at him. After just over seventy years together, Steve had become pretty easy to read.

“Sorry, doll,” Bucky replied sweetly, and chuckled when he spotted how Steve's flush had made its way up to his shoulders. “I promise I'll try and keep my thoughts quiet.”

Steve snorted like he seriously doubted that, but he didn't reply verbally as he turned his gaze away from Bucky, and slid his fingers smoothly into his own ass.

The sight nearly caused Bucky to melt straight through the bedsheets. Steve's head tilted back as he let out a long, blissful sigh, and Bucky trembled with _need_ was he watched Steve's thick, lubed-up fingers slide in and out of his hole, scissoring himself, his muscled thighs and ass twitching with every minute motion. He was like pure art come to life, and it was taking _all _of Bucky's self-control to stay still and _just watch_, and not crawl across the sheets to pin Steve down and eat him alive.

Another sweet sigh slipped past Steve's lips, and Bucky let out a whine when the man added a _third _finger to his ass. The sight of that third digit utterly shattered Bucky's flimsy self-control, and he got up from his position of just watching, and closed a possessive hand around Steve's thick wrist.

“Don't even _think_ about it, doll,” Bucky purred, using a commanding tone of voice that he rarely employed in the bedroom, but it made Steve shiver sweetly. “If you finger yourself anymore, you won't be nice and tight for me, and that'd be a _real _shame...”

“Bucky...” Steve breathed, trembling as he allowed his hand to be dragged away, and Bucky exchanged Steve's fingers for the head of his cock, which he pressed gently against the fairy's entrance, but he didn't push in yet. Steve let out a soft whimper, which shifted to a gasp when Bucky brushed a gentle kiss against the back of Steve's neck.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Bucky breathed against his skin, which still tasted like morning dew. “I got you. Always.”

Steve exhaled slowly, like something Bucky had said had finally relaxed him. Bucky smiled as he pressed kiss after kiss to Steve's neck while he teased the blond's hole with the head of his cock, each gentle push making Steve gasp in clear anticipation, only to whimper when Bucky pulled back again.

Admittedly, it was a little bit of a power trip for Bucky, who was enjoying teasing Steve perhaps a _little _too much. He couldn't help but marvel as he watched Steve come apart under him, whimpering and panting, his skin shiny with sweat, though, as always, it did not bear a human scent, or any kind of masculine aroma, and in fact made the whole bedroom smell like a forest after a rainstorm.

Bucky decided that it was probably a good idea to stop teasing his lover, though he was careful to overshadow that thought in his mind with a haze of unimportant half-thoughts about their impending departure, and how pretty he thought Steve looked when he was coming apart like this, which Steve clearly heard, in particular when Bucky spotted another blush bloom on the fairy's cheeks.

While he thought his non-thoughts, Bucky slowly coaxed Steve into the centre of the bed. He adjusted their position, moving Steve like a mannequin, who went all too willingly, eyes bright and glazed over with lust while Bucky eased his fairy down onto the bed, back against the sheets so Bucky could see his face, and he crawled in between those deliciously muscular thighs.

“Bucky...” Steve panted as he spread his legs wider, “please...”

“Shh, babydoll,” Bucky purred while he ran a hand across the top of Steve's leg, “I got you.”

Bucky took hold of Steve's legs gently, drawing them around his hips, and Steve instinctively locked his ankles at the small of Bucky's back. The feeling of Steve's muscles all around him, tensing and relaxing compulsively with the anticipation of what was to come nearly did Bucky in, and he had to pause to find his breath again before he, at last, positioned himself, and slid deeply into his lover.

Steve moaned, eyes sliding shut as he arched his back a little, his cock flushed and leaking over his stomach as Bucky pushed deeply into him, while his hands fell to Bucky's hips, and squeezed hard enough that he was likely to leave bruises.

_I really should top him more often, _Bucky thought, breathing raggedly as he drew out, and snapped his hips as he thrust back in, making Steve groan wantonly again. _He's so gorgeous like this._

Steve seemed too lost in his own pleasure to really respond to Bucky's thoughts anymore, his legs tightening around Bucky's waist, drawing him more deeply into the blond, while he dropped his arms above his head and twisted them in the blankets, and moved with Bucky, silently pleading him to go faster.

Bucky obliged, pounding into his lover harder, grunting with every motion, and Steve let out a tiny gasp as he rolled his hips, moving fluidly with Bucky, like they were _made _for each other.

And they undoubtedly were. After seventy years, it was abundantly clear that Steve was, without a doubt, the best thing to ever happen to Bucky.

Bucky was drawn sharply from the quagmire of his own thoughts, his focus shifting back to Steve, determined to make their last night memorable, and not hindered by how much he loved the man currently splayed out beneath him. He wanted to move in for a kiss, but it felt impossible to do so without letting up on the pace he'd set, and he wasn't about to slow down when he felt how unbearably _close _they both were.

Bucky struggled to not get lost in the feeling of Steve as he moved, but his fairy had incredible staying power, even when it was Bucky on top. As a result, when Bucky stilled and let out a single little grunt as he came inside Steve (they had long since given up on condoms, as Steve's magic cock always wrecked them, and they had always been monogamous anyway) Steve's eyes widened, like he was suddenly seeing _stars_.

Steve let out a whine as Bucky wasted no time in curling both hands around Steve's thick cock, double-fisting him almost on the side of too rough, making Steve's back arch as he inhaled sharply, and with a yelp, his seed sputtered up, and cascaded messily across his chest.

Bucky grinned as he gently pulled out of his spent lover, and eagerly laved his tongue across Steve's chest, cleaning him up without a thought, his cum tasting like._..starlight._

Steve trembled a little, hypersensitive and exhausted, even as Bucky smiled, wedging the blankets out from under him before he slid in next to his lover, and kissed his way from Steve's cheek to his lips, then let out a small, blissful sigh as Steve drew him in close.

They fell asleep like that, limbs tangled together, but when Bucky woke the next morning he was alone, a bolt of panic lancing through him for only a moment before Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but an apron while he bore a tray piled high with blueberry pancakes, coffee, a bottle of real maple syrup, and a pat of butter.

But it was the sight of Steve, naked save for the apron, that was _doing things_ to Bucky's poor, half-asleep brain.

Steve smirked coyly at him, making it fairly obvious that Steve was either hearing his filthy thoughts loud and clear, or perhaps it was just the dumbstruck and horny look on Bucky's face that was completely giving him away. Either way, Steve didn't remark on it as he slid back into bed while Bucky sat up and laid the tray across his lap.

They ate in relative silence, drinking coffee and working their way through the pancakes Steve had made, and Bucky smiled a little, recalling that first time he'd made blueberry pancakes for Steve all those years ago, and he couldn't help but wonder if Steve's choice of breakfast fare had been deliberate.

After they finished eating, washed up the dishes, and got dressed, Bucky found it remarkably easy to look around the house—_his home—_and say goodbye.

He didn't really know why, and he didn't feel the need to over-analyse it; he just felt..._ready._

Steve seemed to understand Bucky's mindset, smiling at him softly, lovingly, while they each shouldered a bag, packed full of their clothes and their memories. It was time to go.

As expected, Clint arrived precisely at one o'clock to take Bucky and Steve's keys.

“Darcy passed last night,” Clint said as he accepted the keys from them. Most houses these days were opened with fingerprint recognition, but Bucky and Steve were old fashioned, and they had kept to a regular key for the house.

“Was it peaceful?” Bucky asked, and Clint smiled.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Went in her sleep, nice and quiet. When Nat and I woke up the next morning it felt...too quiet, you know? That's when we went to check on her.”

“Good, I'm glad,” Bucky said, while Clint smiled as he pocketed the keys, a knowing look in his eyes like he didn't even have to ask Bucky if he planned to stay for the funeral. He knew that Bucky wouldn't. As he had said so many times over the last few weeks, it was time to move on.

After a departing smile and hug, Steve and Bucky joined hands again, waving in a solemn sort of way as they disappeared into the woods. Clint waved back, and did so until Bucky was no longer able to see him, his old friend obscured by the thick greenery of the woods.

Steve led Bucky through the trees, following a path of his own making at a slow, even pace, though they were somewhat hampered by their big, bulky bags.

They were quiet as they walked, almost solemn, as though Bucky's weariness was bleeding through them both, and making it impossible to bring up any kind of normal conversation, even ones about Steve in an apron and nothing else.

When they did at last reach that border between the human world and Otherworld, Bucky could feel it, and he recalled his conversation with Clint yesterday about that Funeral...thing. A stillness seemed to consume every part of him as they stood at the precipice between worlds; the quiet that ensconced them was _too_ quiet, like he'd lost something, something _important_...

_It's the deep breath before the plunge._

He knew those words, but he could no longer remember where they were from. Had his mind always been so...hazy?

Bucky brought a hand up to his face, intent to rub his eyes and try to focus, but startled himself when he felt tears on his cheeks. When had he started crying?

“Shh, Bucky,” Steve whispered as he wrapped an arm around his human and drew him close. “It's all right. We're almost there.”

Steve ducked his head a little and Bucky looked up, his vision a little clearer, and he saw that they were passing through some kind of natural archway, made of twisting tree branches and crawling ivy.

All at once, an overwhelming calm washed over him. Bucky's head pounded, the way it might after a sudden rush of adrenaline, and he blinked tears from his eyes.

They were still in the woods, but Bucky knew that they were not _his woods. _The air was fragrant, of apple blossoms and jasmine and honey...and who knew what else. Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees, the birds sang brightly, and before them stood a thick towering oak, with branches like a winding staircase twisting its way around the trunk.

Bucky couldn't quite articulate what he was feeling as he walked forward with Steve still holding him steady. They were forced to part as they reached the stairs, Bucky standing behind Steve as they ascended, the tree branches never creaking under his feet but feeling firm, even as they wound their way up into the canopy of the forest. Bucky felt..._calm. _At peace. His fatigue of the human world had faded so abruptly it was hard to remember that it had ever been there in the first place.

The stairs eventually gave way to a flat, wooden plank. It felt like an entryway, except it was up in a tree, more like an elaborate treehouse.

Steve set down his bags, and Bucky mimicked him, using the opportunity to take Steve's arm as they headed deeper into the odd house, everything connected together by little staircases, but so _open_. Bucky could see in every direction for miles and miles, but he had to assume there was some kind of magic stopping unwanted weather or animals from sneaking into the home, in particular with the way little flocks would veer deliberately around the house, and how the trees rustled in the wind, but Bucky didn't feel anything beyond a warm, pleasant breeze.

As Bucky looked around, he spotted a kitchen and storeroom filled with food, a bathroom with a deep bathtub that seemed to be constructed out of the living tree (and big enough to seat them both comfortably, Bucky noted), and a huge bed on a wooden platform, so big and soft that it looked like it could fit _four _Steves with very little effort.

“I want you to rest for a little bit, Bucky,” Steve murmured as he guided Bucky up the little staircase that led to the bedroom. He scooped Bucky up into his big arms with no effort at all, making his human squeak with surprise, but Bucky didn't have a chance to even verbalise a protest before Steve was easing him down into the soft, warm bedding that smelled like petrichor and evergreen.

Bucky didn't even think to protest Steve's gentle request that he rest. He felt so heavy, so exhausted. Whatever had occurred during his transition to Otherworld, it had drained him completely. A rest sounded good.

_It's the Funerary Walk, Bucky_, he heard Steve whisper in his mind. _It's nothing to be scared of. Being here will help, and breathe new life into you. When you feel ready, we can go back home._

Home...

Bucky's eyes slid shut, too fatigued to manage some kind of a response, but if he could, he already knew what his answer would be.

Because he was home, Bucky already knew that.

Steve, after all, _was _his home.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you guys aren't mad about me not tagging the character death in this chapter. I was really conflicted about it, but because of how it was laid out, I felt like it didn't warrant a warning. However, if the majority of you feel like a warning was warranted, I'll go back and tag it :)


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